Full Circle
by darkravine
Summary: Sequel to "Spellbound" Post HB, general spoilers for Angel S3 - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in town. *REVISED and UPDATED*
1. Leaving

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Disclaimer** - Everything belongs to Joss  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 1: Leaving**

She watched his figure retreat, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She half-expected him to turn around. Tell her he couldn't go. Not like this. Not with so many unanswered questions. And part of her knew that if he did turn around, all would be lost. She didn't have the strength to fight anymore. She wanted him, that was for certain. She wanted him in ways that were dark, iniquitous, and just plain perverse. Her body betrayed her every second of every day, responding to his lascivious call with a painful indifference to truth or consequence. And her knowledge of this made it all the more disquieting. That she should want him to stay, now _that_ was something she was wholly unprepared for. He, who tried to kill her and her friends on more than one occasion. He, who had killed indiscriminately for over a century. He, who felt no remorse.

_He_ … was gone.

Buffy released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She stared out into the darkness, unable to believe that he had truly left. She slowly sat down on the porch, hugging her knees to her body, a sudden chill coursing through her. She shivered, closing her eyes to the night around her. She felt empty. Lost. Utterly alone. It occurred to her that this was how it was supposed to be. This was what she had wanted for the longest time. Hell, she had practically begged him to leave on more than one occasion.

Then, why did it all feel so … unsettling?

The door behind her opened with a decided creak, snapping Buffy out of her silent reverie. Willow cautiously approached her, immediately sensing the frail mind-set her friend bore at the moment. She sat only after Buffy acknowledged her, looking up at her with a faint smile seemingly etched across her face.

For a while, Willow said nothing. She regarded Buffy's behavior with a watchful eye, wondering what could have transpired in such a short amount of time to completely alter her mood. It didn't take too long to come to the conclusion that the inner-workings of Buffy Summers were just too damn complicated to even attempt to decipher. She yawned and stretched her legs out over the steps. Buffy glanced side-ways at her, hoping against hope that she wouldn't notice-

"So, Spike was here, huh?"

A man handed his own beating heart to hold couldn't have looked more surprised than Buffy did at that moment. "Wh what?" she stuttered, shifting awkwardly. "How did you … did you see us … him?"

Willow calmly pointed to the remains of Spike's cigarette smoldering in the grass. She peered at Buffy suspiciously. "Why are you so jumpy?"

"Jumpy? I'm not jumpy. I'm the opposite of jumpy. I'm … jumpless."

"Whatever you say." She smiled softly. "So … what did he say to make you so … jumpless?"

Buffy diverted her eyes, inwardly chastising herself for her innate ability to be so transparent. "Oh, nothing much," she lied. "The usual."

"And just what is 'the usual' to you guys nowadays?" She pretended at being nonchalant, casting her eyes to her feet.

Buffy sighed, looking up at the stars above her. "Oh, you know. He came to see if I was ok, and then we talked about Halfrek." She glanced over at Willow questioningly. "Did you know she was trying to curse Xander?"

Willow nodded soberly. "I got the story in the car. Something about Spike pretending to like her so he could get close enough to break the pendant. He didn't really go into much detail … I guess she's human now, though." She laughed. "What I wouldn't have given to see her face when-"

"Ohh kay. That's enough of that subject."

Willow looked over at her confused. "What's up with you?"

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little off tonight. Probably has something to do with almost being sent back to the grave and all. Don't take it personally."

Willow nodded, an uneasy feeling beginning to take up residence in the pit of her stomach. She glanced at the smoldering cigarette again, and then back at her friend. "Buffy … what did he say? Really."

Buffy took in Willow's sober expression and decided a more candid approach would be best. "He … he just left."

Willow furrowed her brow. "Well, that's a given, considering he's not here and all. But that's-"

"No, Will. I mean he left. Left as in gone. Hasta la vista Sunnydale." She drew in a shaky breath, not daring to look at Willow, not wanting her to know just how ok she _wasn't_ about the sudden turn of events.

"Oh." Willow paused thoughtfully. "Well, that's kind of strange, huh?" She pulled herself up into a sitting a position. "Did he say why?"

Buffy shook her head slowly. "Not really. Something about needing to move on." She chewed on her lower lip.

"Well that was … unexpected. It's gonna be kind of weird not having him around annoying us all the time." She shrugged nonchalantly, and Buffy briefly wondered if she was the only one that was remotely conflicted about his departure.

_Of course I'm the only one. Every one else is normal._

"Yeah, well … I guess it just took me by surprise. After all these years of telling him to leave town and he chooses now to listen to me?" Buffy stood up slowly, wincing as her muscles protested against the sudden movement. She leaned against the porch rail to regain her composure, glancing down at Willow, who was starting to get up as well.

"I didn't think he'd ever go. Especially not after tonight. I was beginning to think you were going to have to have that 'talk' with him again." Willow started toward the back door.

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, eyes widening.

"Oh, you know, the whole 'you're a vampire, I slay your kind, not lay your kind'. That talk."

"Willow!" Buffy couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously, though. Why especially after tonight?"

Willow shuffled her feet uncomfortably. "He was kind of … oh, I dunno, possessive? Like in the car. You weren't moving or anything, so we were kind of worried. But he wouldn't let any of us touch you. Kept saying you were fine and to give you 'some bloody air'." She laughed at her horrible attempt at a British accent. "Well, maybe not quite like that."

Buffy was silent, unexpectedly touched. She shrugged the feeling off quickly. _Can't think like that anymore. He left. It's better this way … for both of us._ She smiled wanly at Willow and followed her to the door. Before she entered the house, she turned around one last time, surveying the yard. She felt him there, for a moment. And as quickly as the feeling came, it vanished. Buffy shook her head and followed Willow into the house.

* * *

Spike didn't leave immediately. It had been difficult enough to walk away from her in the backyard. He touched his lips where she had kissed him. _Oh, God, that kiss. _It had been quite a long time since Spike had felt that weak-in-the-knees, sickening feeling, despite all evidence to the contrary. He had been in love with Buffy for years, but it had always been a dark, all-consuming passionate love, spurred on by his hatred for her. But that last kiss …

He closed his eyes, remembering her, her eyes full of quiet desperation as she slowly pulled his mouth to hers. When their lips met, the world around them dissolved into nothingness, a deep abyss of muted sounds and faded background, until all that remained was her. He clung to her fiercely, knowing it would all be over soon, and he would somehow have to find the strength to walk away. After a few moments, he felt his body respond to her, aching to pull her closer, make her his again. Realizing that he was rapidly approaching the point of no return, he pulled away. It was at that moment that he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would never get over her. But she was hurting because of him, and he had to leave. He forced himself to turn away from her, trudging reluctantly across the yard, and finally, out of sight.

Spike sighed, silently cursing himself. He shouldn't have kissed her. Of all the idiotic things he had done (and there were quite a few) allowing himself that last kiss probably topped the list.

He turned around, peering through the heavy foliage he was standing behind, and watched as Willow and Buffy got up to go in the house. He froze as Buffy turned and gazed in his direction. The desire to return to her, to take her in his arms once again, overwhelmed him, and he fought against it, finally turning and leaving.

As he got farther and farther away, he found each step to be easier than the one before it. There was a sense of stillness in him now, spreading over him slowly until he felt completely at ease. It occurred to him that this must be what doing the right thing felt like. He had felt it once before, at the wedding. When he had left.

Spike smiled wryly, lit a cigarette, and disappeared into the night.


	2. Moving On

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Disclaimer** - Everything belongs to Joss  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 2: Moving On**

Spike stepped off the subway car, and immediately leapt to the side as a hoard of people stampeded through the door. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. Since when had New Yorkers been in such a rush? Granted, it had been a little over 20 years since he had last been there, but really. Things couldn't have changed that much. Casting one last disgusted look at the people on the subway, he quickly made his way up the stairs that led to the street.

He had briefly considered going to LA.

Then came the mental bitch slap.

He couldn't see him and the Poof bonding over their respective failures with Buffy. Furthermore, something told him Angel hadn't quite forgiven him for that bout of torture he had served up that last time he had been in L.A. He smirked at the memory. God, the vampire he used to be. Until her.

He promptly cleared his mind of all such thoughts. The whole point of this change in location was to start over. Doing what, he had no idea. Wearily, he went over his list of possibilities. Find a new bint and make her bring back the bacon (or blood, as the case may be). Or he could look up Dru. Maybe she had miraculously forgotten about the time he had tried to stake her. He shook his head at that one. She may be insane, but Alzheimer's victim she was not. His mood darkening, he dismally entertained the notion of begging random people on the street to just stake him and get it over with.

As he contemplated the possibility of self-decapitation, a large, mammoth of a man slammed into him, nearly knocking him over. "Hey! Watch where you're…" he trailed off as a green demonic face glared back at him, eyes challenging. "Perhaps I was a bit mistak … ohhh all right then!" The burly demon picked Spike up by the collar and threw him roughly against a building wall.

"You want to die, Vampire?" the demon asked gruffly.

Spike cocked his head to the side and looked upwards as if considering it. As the demon proceeded to make a go of removing Spike's head, Spike held up his hands signifying a cease fire. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" He paused, licking his lips as he desperately searched his brain for a way to talk himself out of the current situation. Coming up empty, he smiled malevolently and promptly head-butted the demon, temporarily stunning him. The demon dropped Spike to the ground, which gave Spike the vantage he needed. He spotted the manhole next to them and ripped off the cover. Before the demon had a chance to recover, Spike smashed the manhole cover over his head, knocking him to the ground. With a viciousness rarely seen as of late, he continued to bash the demon in the head with the manhole cover, over and over, until all that remained of the demon's head was a crumpled mass of green and red. Spike sighed contentedly and tossed the manhole cover to the side. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and threw the match on top of the dead demon.

Which immediately burst into flames.

_Way to be inconspicuous._

"Fuck." As he turned to survey his surroundings, Spike was shocked to find several people gawking at the now-roaring demon bonfire. He smiled sheepishly. _Maybe they hadn't noticed._

One woman began to look very frightened as the flame crackled behind him. Spike glanced behind him and did a double-take when the "bonfire" decidedly stood up. As screams of the onlookers filled his ears, Spike muttered, "Damn headless, currently incinerating, and still ticking. Right then." Being a vampire, and subsequently, not too fond of fire, Spike immediately did the only thing that came to mind.

He ran.

* * *

"Dawn!"

"What? It's not like they don't talk about it all the time anyways."

"But still." Buffy paused and wrinkled her brow. "That's our couch. We have to sit on it."

"Oh." Dawn looked slightly nauseated as she peeked back into the living room. "At least they still have all their clothes on." She paused. "I think."

Buffy glared at her. "Not helping. Now, go wake Xander up so he can drive you to school."

"I'm _so_ not going in there."

"You so _are_ going in there."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Dawn!" Buffy exhaled loudly. She looked at the ceiling and silently counted to three. "Listen. You've already been late twice this week. You don't have time to argue with me right now. Just go in there and wake him up."

Dawn begrudgingly complied, shooting Buffy a dirty look as she entered the living room. Buffy was pretty sure she heard a muttered, "bitch," but she couldn't be sure. She sighed heavily. Just when had it all gotten so complicated?

Xander appeared groggily in the kitchen, eyes half-shut as he bumbled about, looking for something. "You seen the keys, Buff?" he croaked.

Buffy's forehead pinched together. "Are you okay?"

Xander smiled wanly. "Yeah. Just a little out of it. I'll be fine in about 10 minutes or so." He rubbed both of his eyes. "So … the keys are …?"

"Oh, sorry." Buffy scanned the kitchen countertops. "Ah ha!" she said, spotting them by the sink. She tossed them to Xander, who looked up just in time to see the keys hit him in the head. "Oh my God, Xander! I'm so sorry! I thought you were looking." Buffy rushed over to him, where he stood stunned, holding his hand to the side of his head.

At that moment, Anya ambled in, eyes bleary and hair mussed. "What's going on … Xander!" She turned to Buffy. "What did you do?"

Xander held up his hand. "It was an accident, Ahn. She thought I was looking."

Anya continued to eye Buffy suspiciously as she turned back to Xander. Buffy leaned down to pick up the keys, and she felt the air go out of her lungs as an invisible force barreled right through her. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath, as a fresh wave of nausea came upon her. Xander hunched over her protectively, eyes widening when Buffy began to retch violently, her eyes tearing.

"Buffy!" Xander held her shoulders and tried to move her, but Buffy shook him off, squeezing her eyes shut when she felt her body beginning to convulse. She tried to get up, stumbling while half-standing over to the sink, where she stuck her head under the cool running water, gulping greedily. Xander and Anya stood transfixed, watching Buffy heave and shake over the sink.

"Oh my god, Buffy!" Dawn rushed over to her sister, throwing her arms around her. Buffy took a few deep breaths, concentrating hard on a spot on the floor, trying to ground herself. When she was relatively confident that the nausea had passed, she sighed shakily and gently pushed Dawn away.

"It's ok, Dawn. I'm ok. Whatever it was … it's over now."

Dawn snorted. "Yeah, right. You were just puking up your intestines-"

"Oh, gross, Dawn. And no, I wasn't. It was probably just some 24-hour flu thing … except it wasn't 24 hours … and it wasn't exactly the flu. Anyways, I swear I'm fine now." She forced a smile and looked over at Xander and Anya, who were looking her over with a mixture of concern and disbelief. "Xander, Dawn needs to get to school."

"But Buffy-"

"No buts, Dawn. You're going."

"You always do this! All I want … I just care about you! Why do you always shut me out!" The furious teen spun on her heels and ran out of the kitchen. Buffy winced as the front door slammed shut, and she slowly raised her eyes to Xander. Xander caught her look and nodded.

"I'll go find Dawn and take her to school. You just … rest. It looks like you need it." Xander scooped the keys up from the floor and hastily planted a kiss on Anya's forehead before running out the door.

Anya shifted uncomfortably, looking at Buffy through narrowed eyelids. "You're not really _fine_, are you?" It was more of a statement than a question, and Buffy pointedly ignored her. Anya rolled her eyes and followed Buffy as she strode out of the kitchen. "Come on, Buffy. Don't pretend that was nothing. You're the Slayer, for God's sake. _Nothing_ wouldn't do that to a Slayer."

Buffy whirled around so quickly that Anya had to take a step back. "Just because you and Xander are back together doesn't give you permission to analyze me! I don't go around getting into all of your … _business_, do I?"

Anya raised an eyebrow and smiled slowly. "So this is about Halfrek and Spike then." Buffy froze, her jaw dropping just a little as Anya smirked. "I knew it!" Anya pointed accusingly. "Hallie told me how pissed you were when you walked in on her and Spike. And now Spike's gone. You blame me for bringing Hallie into town and ruining whatever it was you had going with Spike, am I right?"

Buffy glared at her. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

She started up the stairs when Anya grabbed her arm. "Oh, no, you don't. Listen to me. I wasn't the one who slept with Spike, Buffy. It was Hallie. And you should be mad at Spike, not her."

"I am mad at Spike!" The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. Buffy immediately put a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.

Anya seemed a little taken aback at the outburst, but quickly recovered, putting her hands on her hips. "Then why give me the attitude?" she shot back.

Buffy's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Anya," she said quietly. "You're right. You don't deserve this." She looked her in the eyes. "But your theory … about Spike. It's all wrong."

Anya snorted. "Oh please. We all have seen the way you look at each other. And Hallie just confirmed what I knew already." She leaned in, her voice quieting. "The way you were dancing with him at the Bronze, how weirdly protective he's been of you. You don't have to lie to me, Buffy. I don't really care whether you've been having sex with him or not. And just so you know, Xander doesn't know anything about this, nor does he need to."

Buffy stared at her calmly, shrugging. "Does it really matter, anyway? Even if Spike and I were … he left. He's not coming back. That's the way it should be." She paused. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't share any of your theories with anyone. I have enough to deal with right now."

Anya smiled wryly. "I wouldn't. But only because I know Xander would go nuts. And we're trying to work everything out right now." She tilted her head to one side. "Why did he leave?" she asked slowly.

Buffy looked up at her and then averted her eyes. "I don't know," she replied tiredly. "I guess because I couldn't give him what he needed." She turned towards the stairwell. "I'm not feeling very well. I think I'm going to take a nap."

Anya nodded knowingly and returned to her spot on the sofa as Buffy slowly made her way up the stairs. When Buffy had reached the confines of her bedroom and the door had been safely shut behind her, she picked up the phone next to her bed. After pressing a number of buttons, she placed the receiver to her ear, absently twirling a strand of hair.

"Hello?" a groggy voice sounded.

"Hey, it's Buffy." She paused, closing her eyes. "Something's happening to me. I need you here."


	3. Old Acquaintances

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 3: Old Acquaintances**

Spike breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the bar, glancing quickly at his surroundings. Human, for the most part, but all in all, not a great disappointment, all things considered. He had lost the walking-dead demon about four blocks back, amongst a great many screams of surprise and fear. For a demon that no longer possessed a head, he was surprisingly accurate in his pursuance. Eventually, though, not having the gift of sight had taken it's toll, and the demon became confused, allowing Spike his safe arrival at the bar. Running his fingers through his hair, he approached the bar and deposited himself in a seat wearily. Before he could order, a cold hand clamped onto his shoulder, making him jump to his feet and whirl around in defense. As he recognized the giggling figure in front of him, he scowled and rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell."

"I _thought_ it was you!" she exclaimed, self-consciously tucking a strand of blond hair behind one ear.

"Yeah, well, thinking was always one of your strong points," he said, realizing the sarcasm would be lost on her. He sighed heavily and dropped back into his seat. "So, just what _are_ you doing here, Harm? Come to make my unlife a living hell, so to speak?"

"Duh," Harmony continued breezily, sitting next to him, "New York. It's like, cool and stuff. All the people here like, worship us. Well, not us, personally. I just meant vampires. They all want to join the club."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Been making trollops like yourself, then? A few lackeys to go into town with?"

Harmony furrowed her brow. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed. _Great. Just wonderful_. He needed alcohol for this. Very great amounts of alcohol. Raising his hand to grab the bartender's attention, he ordered a drink before turning back to her. "Have you been making others?" He rolled his eyes at her confused expression. "Sodding hell, woman? Are you that daft? Vampires. Have you been making vampires?"

Harmony giggled as she finally understood. "Oh, no. I tried once. But I forgot that you had to give them the blood before they actually died. It helps with the whole swallowing your blood part, did you know that? Anyways, no, I just meant that you just tell them you're a vampire, and they'll, like, follow you anywhere. And then you just kill them. It's so easy." She smiled sweetly, gazing at him through lowered lids. "So, what are you doing here, anyway? Buffy kick you out of good old Sunnydale?"

Spike emitted a low growl. "_Buffy_ didn't do anything. Bitch is too stupid to know what's good for her. _I_ left." He downed his shot in one simple movement and signaled the bartender for another. "'Sides," he continued cavalierly, "the town was gettin' old. Boring. It was time to move on."

She laughed disbelievingly. "Yeah, right! Did you forget about me, Blondie Bear? I _know_ you. For awhile, it was like we were the same person." Spike started choking on his whiskey. Harmony ignored him and continued, her eyes darkening. "And then _she_ had to go and ruin everything. She thinks she's all invincible and everything just because she's the slayer. Well, she's got something coming to her, that's for sure."

Spike cocked his head to one side. "Just what is your little brain imagining up now?"

"I'm not imagining anything!" She paused, sucking in an unneeded breath. "I'm just saying, something big's going down."

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose as his other arm shot out and grabbed Harmony by the neck. He gazed over at her, contempt fleeting across his features. Her eyes widened in surprise as she struggled unsuccessfully with his iron-clad grip. "Now," he said, his tone cheerful. "What's going 'down' that has to do with Buffy?" He smiled insincerely. "And if you lie to me …" he tightened his grip, causing Harmony to start squealing.

The bartender looked up from a massive mixed drink he was concocting. Spike immediately dropped his arm and smiled complaisantly. Harmony leaned forward, rubbing her neck. "Dammit, Spike! Why'd you have to go and do that? This bruise won't heal for like, 4 hours or something. How am I supposed to pick up any guys?"

Spike closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Harm, just tell me …" he stopped and looked heavenwards, shaking his head slowly. When he returned his eyes to Harmony, the contempt and frustration was gone. "Nevermind. Whatever it is, she'll squash it anyway. Just like she does to everything else in her life." He added as an afterthought. He ordered another shot as Harmony looked at him confused.

"I don't get it, Spike. She shut you down. Why do you care?" She inched closer, a slow smile playing along her lips. "You know … there are people who care about you. And you could get what you really want." She ran her hand up his thigh, and whispered in his ear seductively. "All you have to do is ask."

Spike looked at her guardedly. "'S that right?" He watched her hand on his leg. Harmony may not have been all there in the intelligence department, but she was attractive enough, he guessed. And not to be overlooked, _very_ talented. Extremely so, in fact.

Harmony suddenly tore her hand away from his leg as if it had been on fire. Her eyes were glued to the entrance of the bar, a hint of fear flitting through them. Spike lazily turned his head to see what had walked in that should interfere with his action. He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. What the hell was so scary about the short rat of a man that stood in the doorway? He glanced at Harmony questioningly, and she hung her head, avoiding his eyes while mouthing a silent "no." He was about to ask her why she was being such a pansy when the man in question strode up to them, bringing with him an air of authority, and Spike realized he had been wrong. The "man" was not a man at all. He wasn't quite sure what he was, but he was definitely not of this world. He glared at the man defiantly as he sized him up. "Got a problem, mate?"

The man ran his tongue over his teeth and clicked his jaw unnaturally as he peered at Spike through narrowed eyes. "You're not supposed to be here," he said simply, voice gravelly.

Spike raised an eyebrow and swiveled around in his bar stool to face the man completely. "Do I _know_ you?"

The man laughed harshly, sending shivers up Spike's spine. "You should." He paused, gesturing to a few muscled men a few feet away. As they took their place behind the man, he continued. "I'm Elton."

Spike snickered. "Elton? You expect me to be cowering at your feet with a name like that? I mean, come _on_. It doesn't exactly inspire fear in a man. Maybe acute homophobia, but-"

He never saw the first one coming. A jab in the chin so hard he was sent sprawling over the bar. Before he could regain his footing, two of the muscle boys were dragging him to his feet while the third one pummeled him in the stomach. Spike tried to kick himself out of their holds, but he was rewarded with white fire jolting through his head. _Great. Human. _He looked over at Harmony, who had still not looked up. _Guess I'll be getting no help from the peanut-brain gallery._

Elton held up one hand, and Spike found himself being released, the assault on his body called to a halt. Elton looked at him with dead, unamused eyes. "You killed my demon, Vampire," he hissed, leaning closer. "You might remember him. Green, currently without a head."

Spike smirked. "Oh, that fellow. Yeah, well, what can I tell you? Should have watched where he was going."

Elton's arm shot out and lifted Spike by the throat. "You should learn to hold your tongue. Before someone decides to rip it out for you."

Spike was vaguely aware that this was the second time he had been in this position in the same night. He grinned wickedly. "And who'll be doing the honors, Elton? You?" he scoffed.

Elton dropped him to the floor. "I have more power than you can imagine, Spike."

"Hey, how did you-"

"Know your name?" Elton laughed maliciously. "There isn't much I don't know." His eyes hardened. "Now, be a good boy and get out of this town before I have to kill you."

"You couldn't kill me if you tried."

Elton glared back at him, eyes challenging. "Oh, I can't?" He smiled ruefully, clicking his jaw in that unnatural way once again. "Maybe I don't want to kill you. Maybe there's something even worse I could do to you." He closed his eyes, and his face took on a look so peaceful that Spike began to believe he was asleep. But then his eyes flew open, and Spike became increasingly uncomfortable as they bore into him. "I see a young girl, long brown hair … and then … oh, of course. Her sister. Short little slip of a thing. Hazel eyes."

Spike froze, whatever verbal jibe he had been prepared to fling died on his lips.

"And where might this be?" Elton continued. "Sunny … Sunnydale. California. Where the mouth of Hell resides." He moved in closer. "Sound familiar?" he hissed.

Spike looked down at the floor. "No," he said unconvincingly.

Elton ignored him. "I'll kill them, and I won't make it pretty." He paused. "The slayer, huh? Well that's a death wish if I ever heard one. She kills your kind, you know."

Spike rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He really wanted to tear the little pissant's head off, but something about the look in Elton's eyes told the part of his brain that usually never listened to shut the hell up and figure out what Elton's agenda was. He racked his brain, trying to remember what kind of demons had psychic ability and appeared to be human. _Well, let's see. There's Drusilla. _But this guy was definitely not a vampire. And most psychics weren't that accurate. Elton _was_ powerful, he could feel it rolling off of him in waves. Something weird was going on. Why would Elton want him out of New York?

Elton studied the vampire carefully. After a long pause, he finally said, "So, do we understand each other? You'll leave New York?"

Spike nodded slowly.

Elton smiled widely. "Great. Now, enjoy the bar for tonight, but I better not see you anywhere in the vicinity of this city by tomorrow. And believe me when I tell you, I'll know." He nodded to the muscle men, who smirked at Spike as they left without a word. Once the door of the bar closed behind Elton and his entourage, Spike looked up at Harmony, who was squirming in her seat, avoiding his stare. He grabbed her by the arm, eliciting a yelp from her as he dragged her out of the bar.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" she yelled.

"You're going to tell me exactly who and what the hell that guy is … and why he knows so much about me."


	4. Old Acquaintances Part 2

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 4: Old Acquaintances, Part 2**

Anya stared blankly at the refrigerator that lay open before her. It wasn't that the rotting vegetables, moldy bread, mystery meat, and sour milk were unappealing, however, after all the vomiting Anya had been witness to in the past few days, her appetite was decidedly less aggressive. Practically nonexistent. With a "yech", she shut the refrigerator door and fixed herself a perfectly safe, non-fungus infested glass of water.

Xander walked in the kitchen and quickly threw his arms around her. Anya stiffened, but only temporarily, allowing herself to surrender to his embrace. He sighed against her, suddenly sounding so tired. She put the glass down and ran her fingers through his hair. "She still saying nothing's wrong?"

He pulled away and nodded. "Of course. Apparently now it's been upgraded to the week-long-type-of-flu." He laughed bitterly. "Since when did she start shutting us out? I mean, we're her _friends_. We care about her. And something is seriously wrong with her. Why won't she let us help figure it out?"

Anya looked away and shrugged. "Maybe she thinks that we have enough to deal with."

Xander sighed heavily. "Always the martyr. Figures." He started pacing around the kitchen. "At first I thought she was pregnant or something, and maybe she was too scared to tell us about it. But it's not that. Every time she gets sick, it's like an attack on her body. Almost like something is going through her. I can see it in the way she kind of braces herself."

She nodded, half-listening. "Listen, Xander. It's not that I don't care about Buffy, but I just care about us more. She obviously doesn't want our help. Maybe we should do as she asks and give her some space. And then we could have alone-time again."

Xander looked at her incredulously. "Buffy needs us now. And you want to leave her all alone…"

"She's not alone, Dawn's here –"

"… just so we can concentrate on our relationship stuff right now? An, I know the whole ex-demon thing puts a limit on your understanding of social behavior, but _really_. When someone needs help, you don't just abandon them because of your selfish needs."

"Yes you do." Buffy stood leaning in the doorway, her face pale but her look determined. "Xander, you can't do anything for me right now. If there was something you could do …" she trailed off, looking out the window. "You and Anya need each other right now. Go. Dawn's here to take care of me. And I don't want you feeling guilty or anything."

"But Buffy," he protested, "you don't even know who's doing this to you."

Buffy's jaw was set. "Yes, I do, actually." She looked down at the floor. "It's Warren. I was stupid. I underestimated him, thinking that he was just some geek. Now he has control."

Xander gazed over at her questioningly. "What makes you so sure it's Warren? And what exactly is he doing?"

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I just know. Besides, Jonathan's missing. I have a bad feeling that Warren and that other guy are behind it. As for what he's doing, I have no idea. But I called someone."

Anya furrowed her brow. "Who did you call?"

As if on cue, a loud knock echoed though the house. Buffy looked at the door confused. "Wow, he's a day early," she said as she made her way over. As the door opened before her, she took a step back, revealing the man in front of her to Xander and Anya.

"Angel?" she breathed.

Xander bristled. "You called _Angel_?"

The man in question looked at Buffy morosely. "Can I come in?"

Buffy nodded absently, not taking her eyes off of his as he walked through the door. She couldn't help but notice the disheveled hair and clothes, and immediately knew something was wrong. Angel was never one to neglect his appearance. She watched as he nervously paced and eyed Xander and Anya wearily.

"I need to talk to you, Buffy. I know we said that we wouldn't meet like this, but I had to. Something's happened, something that I don't know how to deal with and why do you look like death's doormat?"

Buffy blinked dumbly, and she was vaguely aware that Xander was talking.

"You called Angel?" he repeated.

Buffy shook her head and tried to concentrate on the situation at hand. "No, I didn't call Angel." She took one of Angel's hands in her own. "What's happened?"

Angel looked over at Xander and Anya and Buffy followed suit. "Guys? Can Angel and I talk alone?"

Anya needed no further encouragement. She quickly grabbed Xander's hand and pulled him out the door as he sputtered incoherently.

Buffy brought her attention back to Angel. She stared at him uncertainly, her eyes full of concern and questions. Gently, she pulled him to the stairwell. "Come. Dawn's going to be home soon, and I don't want to be interrupted." He allowed her to lead him to her room, finding his way up the stairs slowly.

* * *

Buffy listened in silence as Angel relayed all of the events of the past year, eerily detached. He told her of his one incautious night with Darla, how Darla had returned nine months pregnant. How the birth of his son was prophesized. How heartbreaking it had been to see Darla plunge the stake into her own heart. The way the dust she was reduced to slipped through his fingers like nothing. The first time he saw his son, lying in the street as the rain fell on his face. How complete he felt, for the first time in his life, just being a father. He told her about Holtz, how he and Darla had killed his entire family. How he had vamped his daughter. Holtz's vendetta. Wesley's betrayal. And finally, how he had watched, helplessly, as Holtz took his son and jumped into the vortex of an unknown dimension.

"Wesley and Fred are trying to pinpoint exactly which dimension Sahjhan opened up, but even if they can find it, there's no way of telling if we can get into it, let alone if time passes the same way there. We've been going in circles for three weeks now, and it still hasn't brought me any closer to finding my son. I needed to get away … to talk to … you. Buffy, I know we haven't been close in the last couple of years. But part of me … God, most of me, will always love you. And I thought if I came here, it would help." He sat in her window sill, looking at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the wall, where it had resided most of the conversation.

Buffy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to cry for him, his loss, his hopelessness. Her heart ached for him, and she fought the impulse to take him in her arms. _No. No good would come of that_.

Another part of her was angry. Angry at him for waiting until now to tell her about everything. Angry that he had slept with Darla in the first place. She felt betrayed in the worst sense of the word. Her brain told her she had no right to feel that way. She and Angel hadn't been together in three years, if they ever truly had been together to begin with. He had no obligations to her, no reason to include her in his life anymore. But her heart nearly broke at the thought of him sleeping with Darla. She knew that he had slept with her before … before he had met her. But the knowledge that he had been able to move on, take comfort in someone else's arms, no matter how temporarily, cut her to the bone. _Yeah, like I'm one to talk,_ she mentally admonished. _I'm the one who's been sleeping with his progeny on a regular basis, and I'm upset over one night with his ex?_

She raked her fingers through her chopped locks. She knew she was being totally childish. Angel had come here, grieving over the loss of his son, and all she could think about was how mad she was over his sexual exploits. She had no claim on him any longer; she was no longer in love with him. The truth of that slowly sunk in, and she was overwhelmed with sadness at the thought.

"Angel …" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She had no idea what to say.

His eyes locked onto hers, and something passed over his features. But before Buffy could contemplate what it had been, he had crossed the room to where she sat on the bed, kneeling before her like some knight paying homage to his queen. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, as he pressed his lips to hers. She started in surprise, but surrendered to him nonetheless, allowing his arms to encircle her and meeting his lips hungrily with her own. She rested her arms over his shoulders and linked her wrists behind his neck. Angel leaned into her, pushing her down onto her bed as he lay above her, his lips never leaving hers.

A nagging thought kept running through Buffy's head, and she fought to push it back down. But it would not be silenced. She turned her head away from him, breaking the kiss. "I can't … I can't. I'm sorry, Angel. It's just … so much has happened … I don't know … I …" She broke down into tears, her body shaking so much Angel was afraid she'd gone into convulsions. He quickly pulled her to him, hugging her to his chest.

"Shhh … I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to … Oh, God, Buffy. Please don't cry." He ran his hand up and down her back, trying to calm the storm that had taken up residence in Buffy's body. Eventually, her sobs were few and far between, and soon, they had altogether ceased. She pulled away from him, refusing to meet his eyes as she struggled for composure.

"It's all my fault. I didn't think. I'm just … really confused right now. I'm sorry."

Buffy looked up at him and put a finger to his lips to silence him. "It's ok. I'm ok. No worries." She smiled wanly and stood up.

He was in front of her before she could even get to the door. "Please … just tell me what's going on, Buffy. Something's not right with you. I could tell when I first walked in." He took one of her hands in his. "We used to be able to tell each other everything. You can talk to me."

Buffy hesitated, sizing up the man she had once loved. She found herself being led back to her bed, where they sat side by side. She took a deep breath, and started to talk. She told him about Warren and his scheme to undo the spell that had brought her back and how she was now being attacked by some sort of invisible force. Angel agreed with her on her theory that Warren was behind the current attacks, especially when she mentioned that Jonathan was missing. But when she was finished, he kept looking at her suspiciously.

"What?" she finally asked.

"I kind of get the feeling you're leaving something out," he said simply.

"I'm not."

"Buffy-"

"Look, if I wanted to tell you about it, I would have." He recoiled at her tone, hurt filling his eyes. Guilt washed over her then, and she softened. "Angel, it's not that I don't trust you. I just know that you're upset about Connor right now. The last thing you need is a pity party at Casa de Summers, starring yours truly. Besides, I don't think you'd be able to handle this, even if you weren't going through something right now."

"Buffy, whatever it is, I can handle it. Nothing you say can upset me more than I already am."

"I'm sleeping with Spike."

Angel wasn't one to react emotionally, or at all, for that matter, to most situations. Often, he would internalize, mull it over quietly, and come to an indifferent conclusion based on a rational summation of all the facts. He had relied on this method for over eighty years without incident, and he had no intention of changing his methods anytime soon. But when Buffy had said … that, he felt his inner-demon clawing for release, and whatever grace and dignity he had hoped for in this conversation quickly flew out the window.

"You slept with _who_?" His words were quiet, but laced with barely controlled fury.

Buffy clamped her jaw shut and shook her head. "See? I knew I shouldn't have said anything-"

Angel grabbed her by the shoulders and watched her expression change from frustrated to fearful. Her eyes widened in surprise as he shook her roughly. "Are you _insane_! Do you have any idea what the hell Spike is capable of?"

She glared back at him with dead eyes, recovering from the initial shock of his anger. "Of course I know what he's capable of!" she snapped. "How can you even ask me something like that? Besides, he's … different now."

"Buffy, no chip can change what he is. He's still a demon. Now, if he had-"

"A _soul_? Like you have?" Her eyes were black pools of accusation. "Funny, having a soul didn't seem to stop you from tearing out my heart and leaving me by the curbside." Her shoulders slumped, vulnerability invading her small persona. "You left, and now he left. And I can't even explain it to myself. Why do I even care, right? He's just … Spike, and I should be happy he's gone. No more worrying about what stupid scheme he's brewing up now. No more having to explain to my friends where I've been for the past 10 hours. No more stinking of cigarettes and bourbon. But I just feel so lost now. I find myself trying to justify everything he's done, and wondering if somehow, there is such a thing as a good vampire. But, of course, he's not even remotely good in the larger sense, just in the one that makes me feel all warm and tingly, and, oh God, I _miss_ him-" Her voice broke, and she sank down onto her bed, dropping her face into her hands.

Angel listened to her cry, frozen in place as he was utterly unprepared for such a reaction. Eventually, he made his way over to her and threw his arms around her. When her sobs had quieted, she waited for him to say something, and when he didn't, she told him everything. She talked for what seemed like forever, and she was surprised when he didn't interrupt her.

"Say something," she said after there were no more words, and they had been engulfed in silence for several minutes. Minutes that felt like hours as his inscrutable eyes revealed nothing to her about how he felt.

"I'm too shocked to say anything," he replied. "I just never saw this coming. I mean, Willow mentioned that Spike had this strange infatuation with you last year, but she assured me in no uncertain terms that you did not return his feelings."

"I didn't plan this."

"I know. And my reaction was … well, let's just say unfair."

"To start."

He smiled. "Yes. But it doesn't mean I approve of all … this."

She smiled gently. "God, Angel, _I_ don't even approve of all this. All I know is that it sucks. A lot. But it's too late now, anyway."

A shrill beeping sound filled the room, and Angel hurriedly pulled the pager out of his pocket and checked the number. When he looked up, his eyes were filled with hope and desperation, and Buffy realized what the numbers had meant.

"Connor …"

"Yeah," he said, instantly jumping to his feet. "Buffy, I'm sorry but I have to go."

"I know." She embraced him, and took a step away. "Go. I can handle things here."

"You know I love you, right?"

Buffy nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Me too. Now, go find your son."

Angel nodded gratefully before tearing out of her room. Shortly after, Buffy could hear the rev of his engine and the squeal of tires on pavement. Then, there was nothing but the calming sounds of night.

* * *

Willow entered the house at 7:26 am, careful to click the door shut behind her as quietly as possible. She hadn't intended on staying out so late, but one thing had led to another and suddenly she was wondering how one cup of coffee turned into a night out at the Bronze complete with many drinks and shameless grinding on the dance floor with Tara. She smiled to herself as she collapsed into the couch, remembering the way Tara had looked at her, the way she had felt when they started dancing, like they were the only two people in the world. She had just indulged herself in an intense fantasy of the NC-17 variety having to do with herself, Tara, and a vat of whipped cream when the front door opened. She blinked at the morning light streaming through, and gradually a figure appeared in the doorway, complete with baggage.

"Willow, I see you're awake. Now, do be of assistance and help me with my bags. They are quite heavy, and the flight was dreadfully long, not to mention the band of Puisie midgets I encountered on the way-"

"Pussy midgets?"

"Pyew-see midgets. I don't really want to get into it. Long story. Now," he said, stepping into the foyer. "Where is Buffy?"

Willow stared at him disbelievingly, shaking her head to clear the fog that was finally beginning to thin in her head. "Giles? What are you doing here?"


	5. New Alliances

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 5: New Alliances**

"Ow, ow, ow, OW! Spike, you big dork, that was my HAIR! I can't believe you just did that!"

Spike smirked at Harmony, holding a few locks of golden blond hair in his hand as she shot daggers at him with her eyes. He nonchalantly tossed the hair to the floor of Harmony's 'lair' – an abandoned subway station just north of Times Square – and pushed her down onto an open cardboard box that he guessed doubled as a chair. She sat before him, legs splayed out over the edges of the box, and Spike was struck with a major case of _deja vu_. She tried to push herself up, her arms grasping the sides of the box as she leaned her weight into them, but it was to no avail.

She was thoroughly stuck.

And pissed. She began to stream off a bunch of curses with such ease and fluidity that even the writers of "Glengarry Glenross" would have been jealous. Spike stared at her amusedly, eyes widening in surprise at some of Harmony's more choice expletives. When she was finished, he calmly pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "I didn't know you knew that last word, love," he quipped.

"Very funny. Now help me get out of this thing."

"Ah ah ah," he said, waving a finger in her face. "Not until I get some answers." He leaned over her, suddenly serious. "Who is Elton?"

Harmony sighed. "I already told you. I don't know."

"And I don't believe you."

They glared at each other, eyes challenging, waiting for one to falter. It was Harmony. She leaned back into her box, closing her eyes. "Fine, fine. All I know is he came into town a couple of weeks ago. Recruiting. I don't know what for."

Spike slammed his hand down onto the floor, startling her. "You _do_ know. Back at the bar, you said that something big was going down."

She smiled sheepishly. "Um … about that. I was kind of lying." She rolled her eyes at his skeptical look. "I was just _messing_ with you. Sheesh, you and your precious _Buffy_," she muttered.

He sighed, silently praying for patience. "Alright." He started pacing. "What is Elton? I mean, I got that he's a demon, but what kind?"

Harmony shrugged.

"You must know something!"

She was quiet for a moment, and Spike could practically see the rusty wheels turning in her head. _Oh god. She's thinking._

"I knew … someone, a vampire," she started, oddly distant, her voice lacking the usual whininess. "His name was Ryan. Anyways, he came to the bar one night last week and said he overheard something. This guy Elton was telling this bunch of demon-guys that they had to get ready for the big day. He also said that they needed to find this Wizzner guy, I don't really know if that's his name or not. Ryan …," she trailed off, tears clouding her eyes. Spike felt an unexpected pang of pity as she struggled to compose herself. "Anyway," she continued, her voice even, "Elton found out that Ryan had overheard. I don't know how. One of Elton's demons dusted him the next day." She grimaced, as if she were in pain, and he slowly held out his hand to her. She took it gratefully, and pulled herself out of the box.

Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm gettin' a headache."

Harmony looked up at him and swept her fingers tentatively through his hair. "I can make it go away." She grinned seductively.

Now this was the Harmony that he knew.

He looked back at her hesitantly, raking his eyes over her body appreciatively. "Do you remember when we met, love?"

Harmony giggled. "Of course I do. You were all drunk, and you kept falling down that same stairwell over and ov-"

"Not that part," he said quickly. _Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. _Like a mantra. "After …"

Harmony's eyes became wide with understanding. "Ohhhh…" She took a step closer, pressing her body to his. "You mean, when I did … this?" Her hand grazed his thigh, riding up until it rested on his groin. He closed his eyes as he felt something stir. An image of Buffy, poised on his hips, looking in his eyes intently, before she slid her warm body down and over the length of him. His eyes flew open. _Not now, not now!_

Spike growled and crushed his mouth to Harmony's, one hand positioned at the back of her head, the other sliding down her back until it came to rest on her ass. She responded by ripping his shirt in half. _Well, that's one way to do it._ She ran her fingers over his chest slowly, while he pulled at her shirt, willing her to lift her arms. She obliged, and he started tugging at the clasp of her bra. Before he could unhook it, however, she pushed him away. Spike was only confused for a moment, as she took his hand and led him to her bed. She lay down on her back, pulling him with her until he lay on top of her. He stared down at her for a minute, trying to block out the thoughts that had no business racing through his mind at that time.

Namely, the ones that were telling him that this was all wrong.

He mentally kicked himself. _It's not cheating. It's Harmony._ Besides, he had done this before. With Halfrek.

_You only did that because it helped Buffy._

He promptly shut off all brain functions. He didn't need the running guilt trip for doing something that there was no need to feel guilty over. Turning his attentions back to Harmony, he realized that she had already shimmied out of her pants and was now working on his belt buckle. He haphazardly brushed an errant hair out of her face, tucking it securely behind one of her earlobes. The action was not lost on her, and she stopped fiddling with the belt buckle and looked up at him. Her eyes bore into his, emanating desire, lust, and something else. He stared back at her, smiling nervously. Ditzy Harmony, he could handle. Sex Addict Harmony, even better.

But Serious Harmony, whose eyes said _I don't just want to have sex with you, I want to make love, _he was having a lot of trouble dealing with. Sure, he had always known that Harmony felt something more for him than he did her, but it had never been a problem before.

And then she was kissing him. And not in the usual desperate fashion. Her lips brushed against his softly, as she ran her hands up his back slowly.

He couldn't help but notice the irony. He had never actually had the intimacy with Buffy, just the mindless sex. There had been moments. Moments after shagging each other into oblivion when she had been too tired to stop him from displaying the simplest of affections. When they had looked in each other's eyes, lost and utterly terrified that they would never find their way again. No hands, no groping, just kissing. For hours on end.

Harmony pulled away for a moment, and this time Spike couldn't ignore the truth staring at him in the face.

He was Harmony.

Not in the literal sense, of course. But he could see himself in Harmony's eyes, wanting more than the physical, and knowing that there could never be more. How many times had he looked at Buffy like Harmony was looking at him now only to be shut down?

"That's it," he said, and promptly got off of her, pulling his pants back up.

"What the hell, Spike?" Harmony yelled, anger rolling off of her in waves. "You can't just … _stop_ like that. We were just about to … and I was all … are you even _listening_ to me?"

Spike grimaced as her voice hit a particularly annoying note. "Don't think I have a choice, pet," he said listlessly, crossing the room to where his leather coat lay. He fished out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply.

Harmony was floored. "So, you're saying no. To sex." She suddenly felt prone and pulled the blanket up to cover her exposed breasts.

He half-smiled and turned his head to avoid her knifelike stare. "Guess so." He gestured to his clothes. "What with me being dressed an' all. Minus a shirt, of course, 'cause you seem to have-"

"Oh, shut up," she spat, looking down at the blanket that lay over her. The fury melted into sorrow, as her eyes began to tear up. "Why don't you want me?" she whispered through the tears.

Spike shifted awkwardly, not knowing quite what to say. "Look," he said finally, "it's not that I don't want you. I just … I can't right now." He silently cursed himself. Two years ago, he wouldn't have even bothered, but now …

She snorted. "_Her._" She angrily started re-dressing herself.

He held back the venomous comment that immediately sprang to mind. Instead, he nodded resignedly. "Well, normally this is the part where I make a discreet exit, but with the soddin' sun out …" he gestured upwards, "… I'm afraid I'm stuck here."

Harmony ignored him. "I don't get it. Explain it to me. What the hell is so great about Buffy? She kills vampires, Spike. What makes you think she'll ever want you? Geez, and people say I'm dumb." She had finished dressing and was now stalking indignantly around the "bedroom."

"Harm."

"First it's 'I'm gonna kill her.' Then it's 'Oh my God! I love her!' Then it's-"

"Harm!"

"What?" She whirled around to face him.

"Someone's here," he stated simply and pointed to the entrance.

The dark-haired man looked around the subway station, eying the numerous unicorn arrangements with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't think you were into that kinda thing, Spike."

Spike rolled his eyes. "What the _bloody hell_ is it with people I don't know knowin' my name!"

"Well," the man continued, undaunted, "I'm not exactly people."

"Great. Just great. Another unidentifiable demon. They should have a club."

"Actually, there is one. My membership rights have been … let's say altered, as of late."

Harmony looked from the man to Spike and finally back to the man again. "Hello? Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"

The man snickered. "I see you're keeping the usual stellar company," he said to Spike.

"Hey!"

"Well, she does have a point," Spike said evenly. "Not that I really care who you are because I have every intention of killing you in about five seconds, but … how did you find us?"

The man took a step back. "I wouldn't, if I were you. Kill me, that is. I'm the only thing that's standing in the way of hell on Earth."

"Sounds like fun," Spike sneered. He eyed the man suspiciously. "Okay, I'll bite. So to speak. Who are you?"

The man grinned. "Whistler. Name ring any bells?"

Spike groaned.

* * *

"It's my turn now."

"Nooo … I said after he turned purple, you could go."

"But he's like, blue so that's close enough. Give it here."

"No! It's my turn until I damn well say it isn't. Now, just go over and feed the traitor or something. What's it been, like 2 days?" Warren took his hands off the video game controller long enough to gesture to Jonathan, who was huddled in the corner of the room, hands and feet bound together. Andrew sighed exasperated, but begrudgingly complied, stalking up the stairs of their basement quarters. Once the door leading to the basement was safely shut, Warren paused the video game and turned to Jonathan.

"What's the matter, Spanky? Not in the mood to play?" He mockingly held out the controller. Jonathan only glowered at him.

"You know, this would go so much quicker if you just admitted you were wrong and helped us with this next little part of the plan." Warren was the picture of nonchalance.

Jonathan laughed bitterly. "Yeah. I'll bet. Then we'll all be the bestest of friends."

"Whatever. Just know that you're the one doing this to yourself. It doesn't need to be like this."

"I'm the one doing this? Last I checked, I didn't kidnap myself and tie me together like some pig on luau day." He paused, eying Warren wearily. "You really are insane, aren't you? I mean, I knew you were a little crazy for building that robot chick, but you're beyond crazy now."

Warren said nothing as he continued to play the video game. Jonathan sensed his discomfort and decided to risk delving even deeper. "You don't even care that we're hurting innocent people, do you? I mean, God, if you can't even be upset over Katrina-"

"Okay, that's enough! What happened with Trina was an accident. But Buffy, now, she's something different." He turned off the television and strode purposefully toward Jonathan. "We're doing the world a favor, man! I mean, she's not even supposed to be here. We're just putting things back to the way they should be. I don't know why you insist on protecting her. What the hell has she done for you?"

A loud crash reverberated through the room, and Warren immediately ran up the stairs to the source of the noise. Before he could open the door, however, it flew open before him. Andrew sailed through the doorway, smashing into Warren, which sent them both tumbling to the bottom of the stairwell.

Warren groaned as he struggled to remain conscious. He opened his eyes with effort, taking in the scene that lay before him. Andrew lay a few feet away from him, blood streaming down his temples, out for the count. Through his dulled senses, he could see a figure descending the stairwell, clothed in all black. Warren closed his eyes, willing the figure to disappear, to dematerialize as if he were just a part of some simulated nightmare. A heavy boot stepped in front of him, putting an abrupt end to his supplications, and the figure bent down to eyelevel. Warren screamed as the demonic visage stared back at him through dead eyes. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he sprang to his feet, walloping the demon in the head as he took off for the stairwell. The demon was too fast though. He appeared before the stairwell, seemingly nonplussed by the punch to the head. He grinned maliciously, and Warren let out another yelp of terror and ran to the other side of the room where Jonathan sat, wide-eyed and silent.

"Take him!" Warren said, wildly gesturing to Jonathan. "Whatever it is, he did it."

Jonathan was too shocked to respond as the demon started to laugh, his demon visage melting into that of a human face. "You fool," he hissed. "I'm not here to kill you. Well, not _yet_, anyway."

Warren stared at him coolly, desperately grasping at something resembling a spine. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

The demon-man started milling about slowly, scanning the interior of the basement and all of its properties. "I'm not quite sure, yet," he replied distractedly. His eyes fell on a group of Andrew's demon-summoning pipes. "I had a vision. It said you would help me."

Warren shook his head, confused. "Wait a minute. You had a vision? About me?"

The demon's eyes were still trained on the summoning pipes. "More or less." He gestured to the pipes. "You know how to use these?"

Warren pointed to Andrew, who was still unconscious. "He does, if you didn't kill him."

The demon didn't even look back. "He's not dead. But on to more important matters … are you familiar with a Buffy Summers?"

Jonathan licked his lips. "No."

Warren glared back at him. "Of course we are. We're sort of her arch nemesis …ees."

The demon grinned widely. "Wonderful. Then we can get straight down to business. I'm Elton. From now on, you three will do everything I tell you if you plan to live another day in this world."

Warren tried to swallow the sizable gulp that had developed in his throat. "Ummm … yeah, you see, I'm kind of the leader here, and we already have this great plan going-"

"Silence!" Elton's voice boomed throughout the basement in deafening waves. Warren took a step back. "You will do what I say or you die. Simple enough?" When Warren nodded his reluctant approval, Elton continued. "Now just what are you doing to hasten the death of the Slayer?"

"Can't you tell me, if you're so psychic?" Warren's breath hitched at Elton's look. "Okay, okay. We've been kind of testing the waters. You know, observing her weaknesses, testing her abilities. We tried to end this spell that brought her back from the dead, but it didn't work. Right now, Andrew's working with this new kind of demon he recently discovered from the Arcadian dimension. They're easily controllable, and have a very definitive grasp of the target."

Elton raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Just what, pray tell, do they _do_?"

"Well, they … hurt her. Make her sick, or something. They're invisible, and technically they have no form. So, it's easy for them to pass through walls and other objects and remain undetected." He rolled his eyes at Elton's lack of reaction. "Look, I didn't say that it was a perfect plan. The invisible demon guys run out of steam real quick and just kind of dissipate into thin air. We still need this bonehead," he clamped his hands down on Jonathan's shoulders, "to agree to do this spell I found. Apparently, it can strengthen the demons something like tenfold."

Elton stared at Jonathan callously. He closed his eyes, and his face took on that serene quality. Warren furrowed his brow at Elton's strange behavior.

Elton's eyes flew open, and he stared at Jonathan once again. Jonathan squirmed under his gaze but said nothing. "He will not help us," Elton informed Warren. "No matter. We don't need him. I have power. There are just a few limitations to it in this form." He gestured to his body.

"What are you?" Warren asked.

Elton clicked his jaw and looked over at Andrew, who had started to stir. "Later. I suggest you fill your friend in on the regime change around here. And now, if you'll forgive me, I have a small matter in New York to attend to."

"Wait. What do I do with him?" Warren pointed to Jonathan.

Elton seemed to consider this for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. A wicked smile began to spread across his face, and Jonathan's heart felt as if it had stopped. _This can't be good._

"We'll send a message to the Slayer," Elton finally replied. He took a menacing step toward Jonathan. "I'm guessing she's the emotional type, am I right? You think she'll cry when she finds parts of you all over town?"

Warren looked on nervously as Elton took a few more steps toward Jonathan, who was fighting in vain against his constraints, fear grabbing hold of his heart with its frozen hands. He stopped struggling when Elton stood directly in front of him, and looked up at him terrified.

And then the basement was filled with his strangled screams of agony.


	6. The Powers That Don't Be

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 6: The Powers That Don't Be**

Giles stood in the hallway outside of Buffy's bedroom door, his hand poised to knock. But try as he might, he was unable to bring himself to do it. He tried to convince himself that the reasoning behind his inability to do so had something to do with the fact that she had been ill. She needed rest. She would come out when she was ready.

But deep down, Giles knew the reason for his hesitation: he was afraid. The guilt over leaving her on her own burgeoned with this new threat to her life. If he had been there for her, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe, through his guidance, she would have reverted into the bright social Slayer she had been two years ago. And if he was thinking all of these things, then he was sure she had also, at some point or another. What if she blamed him for everything?

_What if she was right?_

Giles took a step back from her door and lowered his arm. She would come out when she was ready.

He made his way down the stairwell, taking in Willow's sleeping form on the sofa. She had been unable to tell him much about Buffy's condition, not having been aware of it. That, in itself, was unsettling. Since when had Buffy and Willow grown so detached from each other that the other didn't even know about a potentially serious threat? They lived in the same house, for God's sake. But Giles had a creeping suspicion that the rift was not limited to Willow. Buffy herself had said on the phone that she had no intention of telling anyone he was coming. She had been afraid that the others would all make a giant fuss about something that could probably be put to rest in a few days time. But Giles knew that Buffy was not afraid of attention. She had never shied away from it before.

She was afraid that they _wouldn't _make a fuss.

He sighed heavily, eying his surroundings. To him, the house looked like a college dorm room. Papers were scattered on every available surface, a thick layer of dust covered most of the furniture, and dishes lay piled up in the sink, on the countertops, and even on top of the refrigerator. The latter sight proved too disturbing for Giles, and he made his way into the kitchen to start on the dishes.

An hour later, Giles looked around the kitchen, satisfied with his labors. The countertop was at least visible now. He quickly checked the clock, and was surprised to find that it was already noon. _Wonderful._ Realizing he couldn't put it off any longer, he slowly started up the stairs.

* * *

Buffy didn't know how or when she had gotten there. One moment, she had been listening to Angel's car drive off, and the next she found herself climbing out her window and aimlessly wandering around. Well, not exactly aimlessly. She always ended up there. Her feet practically on autopilot as she deluded herself, justifying her destination by reiterating the fact that she _had_ to slay. Once the Chosen One, always the Chosen One.

_Yeah, right._

She stood in front of the crypt, unwilling, or unable, to open the door. Because if she actually went in, he wouldn't be there. It was nice to think that he was inside, waiting for her, like always, armed with some snide comment on how there was never any privacy among the undead. And then she would come back with some snide comment of her own, having to do with how, technically, she should have killed him already, so privacy should be overrated. And they would stand there glaring at each other, desire burning in their eyes until it finally detonated, and they threw themselves at each other.

Buffy closed her eyes, allowing the memories to overcome her. For awhile, they had comforted her, reminding her of a simpler time, when emotions weren't attached to all they had done. But even she had to admit that she had been lying to herself. What she and Spike had had, it wasn't pretty, but it had always been _something_.

She gasped softly as she felt the strong arms encircling her from behind, hands resting on her stomach, pulling her closer. And, with a sense of inexplicable certainty, she knew it was _him_. She opened her eyes and turned to him, his arms never letting go of her. Blue eyes gazed back at her, reflecting her own. She opened her mouth to ask him how he had known, but he put his finger to his lips.

The universal sign to shut the fuck up.

She didn't argue, running her hand through his platinum hair. A dozen questions sprang to mind, but she ignored them, reveling in his touch, as he stroked her cheek. No thinking now. Just touching.

He stared at her intently, pulling her towards him ever so slowly, until their lips brushed against each other. She felt her knees go weak as his tongue gently probed hers. Fire ignited, and soon they were both clawing at each other. He broke the kiss, nuzzling against her ear as he whispered, "I missed you."

Buffy smiled slowly. "Me too."

He pulled her to his body, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. "I don't have much time. There's some things you need to know."

Buffy shook her head. "No. None of this cryptic BS, Spike. Just hold me." She tried to contain the tears that threatened to fall, as reality had finally sunk in. This wasn't real. Just a dream. When the hell had she fallen asleep?

Spike laughed softly and gently pushed her away. He pointed to a spot behind her, and she turned instinctually to look. A short man with dark hair and eyes glared menacingly at her, and she took a step back. "That," Spike said, "is your worst nightmare. Funny thing, isn't it? He looks like an overgrown rat. Don't let that fool you." He paused and turned her so that she was once again looking in his eyes. "And don't let me fool you."

A sinking feeling began to take up residence in the pit of her stomach. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Spike said nothing as his eyes bore into hers, expressionless.

_Great. Cryptic Guy the Second. This must be my lucky lifetime._

A low rustle sounded behind her and she once again turned. Jonathan was walking through, whistling and waving to her as he caught her glance. She furrowed her brow. What was Jonathan doing in her dream?

Spike's voice reverberated behind her, but she was awarded with the knowledge that he was no longer there. "_This is only the beginning_ …"

And then Jonathan's face twisted in anguish as his body became a bloody, dismembered pile of random parts.

She didn't know how long she had been screaming, only that she couldn't seem to stop. The next thing she knew, Giles was holding one of her hands as she sat straight up in bed. Eventually, her screams faded to sobs, and she collapsed into her former Watcher's arms.

Giles patted her back awkwardly, all the while making calming shushing noices. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Buffy sniffled and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was low and even. "Jonathan's dead."

* * *

"So, you believe this dream you had is somehow related to the recent … ah, episodes you've been experiencing?"

Buffy nodded mutely, trying to keep her brain focused on the words that were coming out of Giles' mouth. She glanced over at Xander and Anya from her seat on the floor, who were huddled on the sofa. Who had called them? Willow? Dawn? Giles was pacing, pausing only to clean his glasses every so often. _Some things never change_. Sighing heavily, she lay her head down in her hands.

"Well," Willow said from the corner of the sofa, "what exactly happened in the dream?"

Buffy brought her head back up slowly, wondering how she should spin the events. Deciding that vague was the best way to go, she said, "Umm … well, I guess I was patrolling or something and then Spike was there."

"Do you think that means he's back?" Dawn piped up hopefully.

"Back?" Giles stopped pacing. "Do you mean to tell me that Spike left town?" He stared at her inquisitively.

"Yeeaahh, I thought you knew."

"No. For some reason, no one felt the need to tell me." He quickly disregarded the twinge of resentment at having been left out of the loop and pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Why, in God's name, has he left now? Don't misunderstand, I'm actually quite thrilled that Spike has finally come to his senses and decided to move on with his life-"

"Unlife," supplied Willow, always the stickler for details.

"-but why would he choose now?"

The room was silent, and after a few moments, Buffy began to realize they were all waiting for her to say something. To bring light to the circumstances. Explain the unexplainable. Delve into the twisted psyche of an obsessed, lovelorn vampire. She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out. It was quite funny, actually. There had been words – a whole bunch of words – and she had been ready to form them into some kind of a complete sentence. _I kinda blew up his crypt. He had no place to stay._ Or _Spike lost one too many games of kitten poker, and now the shark is after him._ But each of those amusing, if unoriginal, pretexts died on her lips as she realized that she could not lie to her Watcher.

No problem. Anya could. "I think I heard him say something about going to Rome so he could bid on some ancient artifacts that he said would go nicely with the décor in his crypt."

_Okay._

No one said Anya could lie _well_ to the Watcher. Buffy shot her one of her patented _what-were-you-thinking_ glares. Clearly not amused. Anya shrugged helplessly as Willow raised an eyebrow. _Anya lying for Buffy? Interesting._

Amazingly enough, Giles seemed to accept Anya's counterfactual account. Either that, or he didn't care to make any further inquiries. "Right then. So it's not a permanent leave, I take it." Giles looked around expectantly.

_There they go, staring at me again. Like I have all the friggin answers_. Buffy sighed. "No, Giles. He'll be back. We just aren't sure when. Spike was too caught up in his … decorating dilemma to remember to let us know the specifics of his travel plans." Buffy flashed one of her reassuring smiles.

It worked. "Right … Spike was never one to be overly informative. Moving on … how are you so sure Jonathan is dead?"

Buffy swallowed, mentally fast forwarding to the parts of her dream that she thought significant. "I saw him," she said softly, forcing down the nausea that threatened to send her to the bathroom for the third time that day. "He … he was in parts."

Giles squinted. "Parts?"

"Yeah. You know, arms, legs … parts."

The group collectively squirmed, allowing this new set of disturbing information to sink in. Xander broke the silence. "You're sure that it's not a vision of what's to come? Like, maybe if we get there early enough-"

"No," she said firmly. "I felt his pain. I felt his fear. I can't explain it, but trust me when I say I know he's dead." She sighed frustrated. "This is all my fault. I should have been keeping an eye out for him. I should have been protecting him. He helped us when it mattered. And now he's paid for it." She got up and angrily punched the wall, her fist crushing through the drywall as if it were Styrofoam.

"Whoa, Buffy," Xander said soothingly. "There's no way you could have known what Warren was going to do." He smiled wryly. "Besides, what'd the wall ever do to you?"

Buffy stopped, temporarily pushing the anger aside as she fought for control of thoughts. There was something that Spike had told her in the dream … "Wait," she said, putting her hand up. "I remember something else. I'm pretty sure … no, scratch that. I'm positive that Warren wasn't the one who did that to Jonathan."

Dawn furrowed her brow. "Who else would have reason to do something so awful to him?"

"Spike showed me this guy. Although, I'm pretty sure there's more to him than what I saw. He told me not to be fooled by him." Buffy idly wondered if she should go on and tell the others what Spike had said about himself. "Anyways, I got the distinct impression that this guy was bad news."

"What did this man look like?" Giles had already taken his glasses off and was pulling out the trademark white hanky out of his right pocket.

Buffy shrugged. "Short. Black hair. Black eyes." She wrinkled her nose. "Extreme ugly thing going on."

"Did Spike give any indication of what this man could possibly want? Did he at least tell you his name?"

She shook her head. "Spike was … well, let's just say he was not large with the giving of information thing."

Xander chuckled. "Yeah, well, if Dream Spike is half as annoying as Real Spike, I'm surprised he told you anything at all." He paused, leaning on his knees. "Why do you think it was Spike that came to you in your dream?"

_Because I miss his annoying ass._

"Because The Powers That Be like to torment me whenever possible? I don't know, Xander. You can never tell anything with those guys. It's like trying to read from a really small book when all they give you is a really small magnifying gla- and who am I kidding? I totally suck at analogies."

Giles sucked in a breath. "So, what you're saying is that we know nothing about this mysterious man except he's short and apparently not so pleasant looking? And Jonathan may or may not be in several hundred parts right about now."

Six pairs of eyes shot to the front door as it burst open, revealing Tara. Willow started to smile, but she immediately frowned when she caught her panic-stricken expression. "Tara. What's wrong?"

Tara stood for a moment, eyes darting around to each of the Scoobies. She took a couple of shallow breaths. "It's terrible. S-s-something happened. To Jonathan."

Buffy closed her eyes.

"They found … they found part of … oh God …" She trailed off and her lips curled downwards in a sickening grimace. She was sucking in air in big gulps. "I was coming home from class," she continued, "and I s-s-saw the police. They were looking at something in the grass outside campus. A-a-and I looked … I saw it. They said it had been ripped in half … his s-s-skull had been ripped in half." She dissolved into tears, and Willow approached her, throwing her arms around her comfortingly. "I'm sorry," Tara mumbled. "I just never saw anything like that…"

* * *

"So Elton is a part of The Powers That Be?" Spike raised his scarred eyebrow disbelievingly as Whistler raided Harmony's fridge. They had been trying to get answers out of each other for hours now, and only recently did Spike feel he was making any real head way. He could practically hear Harmony throwing an internal hissy fit from where she sat across the room. She had tried to join in the conversation a few times, interrupting with vacuous comments which Spike was certain were designed to drive him insane, until he got so frustrated that he threatened to stake her undead ass unless she stopped her incessant yammering. The fury that boiled in his blue eyes convinced Harmony that he meant business. He had, after all, staked her before. So she stalked off to the opposite side of the station, sulking, completely determined not to say one word to either of them.

Uh huh.

"I don't get it … I thought The Powers That Be were the good guys," she interjected, bracing herself for the wrath of Spike. It didn't happen, as, oddly enough, Harmony had pointed out something useful.

Whistler twisted the cap off of the beer he had pilfered. "Well, yes and no."

Spike sighed. "What is it with you bloody pillocks? Are straight answers too much to ask?"

Whistler shook his head amusedly. "Let me put it to you this way: Elton is the product of two members of the PTB. Because of this, his powers have always been infinitely stronger. He didn't realize this until a few months ago, though."

"So you're saying this bloke is what? On a power trip? Causin' mayhem in the streets of New York just because he can?"

"It's not that simple." Whistler took a long swig from the bottle of beer. "Elton has been interfering with a lot of the cases that we've been working on. Reversing procedures, messing with … well, I'm not going to go into it all. The point is, he's been messing with things he shouldn't have even known about in the first place. His parents tried to control him, but when Elton found he was stronger than them, the shit hit the fan. The only thing his parents could do was banish him to Earth. Don't get me wrong, the guy is still powerful. But not nearly as powerful as he would be if he was still a part of the PTB. Unfortunately, Elton decided to take a little revenge before getting here." He pointed to himself. "When the bastard found out what his parents were going to do to him, he cast this nifty little spell, and suddenly I found myself on the streets of New York. No powers, and no link to them either."

"Why you?"

Whistler sighed. "Because I was working on something of interest to him. And with me out of commission, he could change things."

"Sooo," Harmony said slowly, "don't The Powers That Be realize that you're like, gone? Why don't they just find you and give you back your powers?"

Spike grunted. "Well, that would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"You can't mess with a member of the PTB's spells. It's a little known fact. And technically, Elton cast it before he was ousted. So the only way back is to kill him once and for all."

"And you came to me because?" Spike lit another cigarette.

"Because it was your case I was working on."

Spike choked on the inhale. "Come again?"

"Don't think your actions have gone unnoticed. There was a plan for you, Spike. You were on your way to redemption."

"Well, who the hell said I wanted to be redeemed!" He threw his cigarette across the station. "I'm evil, you sodding prat! I have no desire to become the poster boy for some bleedin' secret society of nancy boys. Go find Angelus for that shite."

"We were going to give you the one thing you truly wanted: a way for her to love you back."

That stopped him. His expression crossed from that of being intrigued to downright disgusted. "By what? Making me human? All soul happy and such? News flash, moron. She wouldn't have even looked at me if I was human."

Whistler shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter much now. From what you tell me, Elton's been able to look into your mind already. He probably already knows about the Slayer."

Spike chewed on his lower lip. "What does he want?"

"Chaos on Earth. Mass-destruction. You know, the usual. If he knows who the Slayer is, he's going to want to take her out. And he'll probably use you to do it."

Spike snorted. "Why the hell would I help the wanker?"

"He'll offer you things. Probably to get that damn chip out."

Harmony's ears perked up. "Really?"

Spike stared at Whistler, ignoring her. After a long pause, he asked, "What makes you so sure I won't help Elton?"

"Because you love her. And, call me crazy, but I think you actually want to do the right thing."

The right thing. _Oh bugger_.


	7. Unknown Territory

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 7: Unknown Territory**

Andrew stared vacantly at the television screen in front of him, trying to wrap his mind around the catastrophic events surrounding him. He told himself it was all a nightmare, and tomorrow morning he would wake up, Jonathan and Warren would be gearing up for the next scheme to unhinge the Slayer, and, most importantly, a demon named Elton would not exist.

He closed his eyes as memories of the day before bombarded his brain. Jonathan – _Oh God._

It wasn't like he particularly liked the guy. He didn't particularly like dogs either. But the sounds he had heard coming out of Jonathan … nothing deserved what had happened to him.

When it was finished, and Jonathan's broken body lay lifeless on the floor, his first urge had been to run. But the demon, Elton, had turned around, covered in blood and grinning maliciously. "Oh, you're awake. Now, wasn't that fun?" he had asked. He took in Andrew's panic-stricken expression and clicked his jaw. "Thinking of running? I wouldn't. You've seen what I'm capable of and, believe me, there's much more you haven't even begun to imagine." He turned to Warren. "Is this little shit going to be able to deal with this, or should I just eviscerate him too?"

Warren looked up from the crumpled mass that used to be his associate. He visibly paled, and took a few deep breaths before answering. "H-h-he'll be … he'll be fine," he whispered shakily, and returned his gaze back to Jonathan.

Andrew stood silent, unable to move. Elton sized him up with his eyes. "He better be." He turned back to Warren. "Now, just make sure you disperse the parts – each one in a different location. It's always more amusing that way."

Warren's head shot up. "You want _me_ to do this? I-I-I can't. You have to. You can't just leave me here with…" he gestured to Jonathan, "… this."

Elton rolled his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me. If I'd known you would be so infantile, I would never have partnered up with you." He clicked his jaw again. "Nonetheless, I suppose it would be easier for _me_ to dispose of him, so I'll let it slide. Just this once." Elton brought his hand up over his head, and Warren watched in amazement as it began to glow, sallow circles of light irradiating in a rapidly expanding plethora of power. Jonathan's body began to glow as well, slowly levitating off of the ground until it reached eye-level with Elton. Elton said a few words in Latin, and the body began to compress upon itself, the intense light seemingly devouring it. And just as soon as it had started, the light grew dim until all that remained was a slight indication of electric charge in the air.

Elton yawned garishly. "Well, nice playing with you, kiddies. I really must be going now. Some loose ends. Won't take too long." And with that, Elton disappeared, a thin cloud of smoke the only indication he had been there.

Andrew shuddered as he turned the television off with shaking fingers. He glanced over at Warren, who was sitting shock still on the couch, his eyes fixed on the bloody floor where Jonathan had lain. All of a sudden, he started laughing, at first, a low chuckle until it crescendoed into hysterical laughter. Andrew scowled. "What the hell could possibly be so funny?"

Warren stopped laughing, and Andrew could see the fear in his eyes. "We're so _fucked_!"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured as much. But you're the leader. You're supposed to figure out a way to get us out of this."

"Didn't you just hear what I said, you fucking moron? We're fucked."

"Stop saying that!"

Warren looked at him through lowered lids. "And what do you propose I do? Huh? You saw what he did to Jonathan. There's no way in hell we can fight him." He stood up abruptly, pacing the room as he carefully avoided the bloody spot on the floor. "He's going to kill us. He's going to do the same thing to us." He stopped pacing and brought his hands up to cover his face.

_He better not fucking cry. _

Andrew ran his fingers through his blond hair. "What does he want anyway?"

"The Slayer. I'm assuming dead. Which wouldn't be a problem except that we can't seem to do it. And if we can't, he's going to kill us." Warren dropped back down into the couch.

"Well, we're just going to have to make sure it works this time."

"How?" Warren glared at him. "That spell we tried to do was our best shot at killing her, and you know it. What do we have now? A few ghost demons that barely even hurt her, and …" Warren's eyes lit up as he crossed the room to a table littered with electronic gadgets. He shuffled a few of them around, picking up one to investigate it closer, until he was satisfied with what he had picked up. He turned to Andrew, and Andrew let out a breath when he realized what Warren was holding. It was a small metallic rectangular cube, no bigger than a dice.

"I thought that wasn't finished," Andrew said. "You said, and I quote, 'There's no way in hell that I'm going to finish this any time this century.' End quote."

"Maybe Elton can help. He seems to have a lot of expertise in multiple areas."

Andrew stared at Warren for a few moments, taking in his desperate demeanor. Just two days ago, Warren was cold, calculating, and nauseatingly structured in regards to his schemes. Now, he was erratic, frightened, and grasping at straws. He sighed and turned away from Warren, a barely audible whisper escaping his lips.

"We're so fucked."

* * *

Patience was beginning to wear thin between all parties at Casa de Harmony. While Spike and Whistler had been talking about Buffy yet again, Harmony had tried to amuse herself by painting her nails – a deep blood red. The effect was somewhat diminished, however, as she had managed to drip all over her fingers. _Damn. And no friggin' remover. _She sighed as she tried to scrape at the globs of red polish. Eventually, she gave up, and directed her interest at the ongoing conversation, which was beginning to sound more and more like an argument. She yawned exaggeratedly as she stretched like a cat waking from its nap on top of her lavender bedspread.

"No, you don't seem to understand," Whistler was saying. "I'm talking about the end of the world as you know it."

"End of the world, blah blah blah, heard it all before. Now understand this: I don't care."

"How can you not care? Your girlfriend's in the world-"

Spike snorted. "She is _not_ my girlfriend."

Whistler sighed and looked heavenwards. "Why me? You'd figure when a guy was up for redemption, he'd take it. But no, I get stuck with the one arrogant prick that thinks he's above all that." He scowled menacingly at Spike. Well, as menacingly as Whistler could manage. "You know, Angel jumped at the chance for redemption. He's still jumping."

Spike stared at him, and in a surprisingly calm voice, said, "Just for one minute, if at all possible, I'd like not to be compared to that fucking ponce. I'm sick to death of always coming up short whenever the bloody Souled One is mentioned."

Whistler chewed on his lower lip. "Well, this would be a way to stop it. Think: if you achieved redemption before Angel did, no one would even-"

"Get this through your thick empty head, mate! Redemption? I. Don't. Want. It. I don't know who's asleep at the switches up there in that demon club of yours that would convince the lot of you that I'm even remotely worthy. I don't bloody care about anything I've done! I feel no remorse, I feel no guilt, I actually _enjoyed_ ripping innocent people's throats out! I'm just an evil disgusting thing!" He stopped, momentarily shocked by the words that had come out of his own mouth. _Where the hell did that come from?_

Whistler stared long and hard at him, racking his brain for something profound to say. Anything at all that Spike wouldn't just automatically shoot down. But choosing words for the tornado of clichés rolling around in his mind proved more difficult than expected. If Spike didn't agree to help him, he didn't know what could be done. The whole plan, everything that was known for the future, was rooted in the single fact that Spike would be redeemed. If he screwed up, said the wrong thing, he would be responsible. He pushed that last thought out of his mind as he sighed, all of a sudden looking exhausted. "Redemption's a funny thing, Spike. To every person seeking it, it's a whole different experience. Some folks don't even realize they wanted it, until I show up on their doorstep, giving them a final test. Whether you want to admit to it or not, some part of you wants to be saved. If not for you, then for her. If the word bothers you so much, then just think of it as a battle. Because it is. With the enemy, namely being Elton, as well as yourself. And I usually don't reveal a lot of the details to the candidates, but I guess you need to know this. If you don't help me, Buffy. Will. Die. As well as Dawn, who, I believe you promised to protect. Now, you can either sit on your ass and watch as Elton kills the Slayer, her sister, and all of her friends, or you can help me send that bastard Elton to the hell dimension he belongs in."

Spike was quiet, no longer looking at Whistler, no longer looking at anything for that matter. He opened his mouth a few times as if to say something, but promptly closed it, inadvertently reminding Whistler of a fish. Finally, Spike lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke curl out of his lungs slowly. "What do I need to do?" he muttered quietly.

Whistler smiled. "You need to go to Elton. Convince him you want to join him."

Spike laughed bitterly. "_Yeah_. That'll go over real well. The bastard ordered me out of New York. What makes you think he won't kill me on spot?"

"He ordered you out of New York so you wouldn't meet up with me. As long as he knows that you haven't seen me, he won't do anything."

"One problem. The guy's psychic. Won't he be able to see what I'm doing?"

"Elton's psychic abilities aren't as attuned as he'd have everyone to believe. He can't see intentions, or thoughts, or feelings. He can only see events. Past events. Obviously, if he's been trekking around in your mind, he's seen what you've been through with Buffy. The things you've said and done with her. But not what you're thinking when you're with her. As for our little meeting, I have enough power to shield it from his mind."

"Shield?"

Elton smiled sheepishly. "Just a little magic. I'm not really that powerful without my, well, powers, but I think I can manage that."

Spike shook his head. "But you're still neglecting one little thing. If he's seen all this history between me and Buffy, wouldn't he be just the tiniest bit suspicious that all of a sudden I want to switch sides?"

"Elton believes that demons are demons. That no matter what, you will choose what comes natural to you, regardless of past circumstances. You'll probably have to approach him with some sort of deal. Like the chip scenario I mentioned before. If you go to him asking to get the chip out in exchange for your help in whatever his plan is, he'll buy it."

Harmony chose that moment to sigh ostentatiously, causing Spike to roll his eyes. "What is it now?" he asked with exaggerated patience.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "Well, actually, there is something." She pointedly ignored Whistler as she strode over to Spike, a determined look on her face. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Spike blinked, momentarily taken aback. "What?"

Harmony rolled her eyes. "Spike. You can get the chip out. That's all you've been bitching about doing for like, three years. Forget about all the rest of this crap. You don't have to do anything for Buffy. She probably wouldn't even appreciate it anyway. You know I'm right."

Spike stared at her, a strange feeling beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. It took a few moments to realize what it was. Bloodlust. Just the thought of being able to hunt again sent his vampiric senses into overdrive. He remembered all of the sensations of the kill as he had never allowed himself to before. The fear, the pain, the rush of blood on his tongue, the power he held over the life of another. _The relief to finally be free_.

"Shut up, Harm," he said, his voice unusually low.

Harmony furrowed her brow. "But-"

"I said, shut your hole!" he bellowed, causing Harmony to jump back. She stared back at him in shock for a few moments, before the anger finally settled in and blazed in her eyes.

"Fine," she said. "Have it your way. _I_ was just trying to help. Unlike some people." She gestured to Whistler. "All he wants you to do is die for some stupid demon company of his. And you're so in love with that stupid Buffy to even notice what he's doing. Fine. Whatever. But when Buffy's back to bitch slapping you on a daily basis and you're still running around like a neutered puppy, don't come to me. Because I won't be there. I'm leaving." She started towards the door and then stopped, whirling around. "I just remembered. This is my place. You get out."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You're throwing us out, then? Right. Well, you forgot one thing." He closed in on her in record speed, and suddenly Harmony was wondering how exactly she had gotten to be pinned up against the wall, Spike's figure looming menacingly over her. "I can still kill _you_," he whispered threateningly, his lips just a breath away from her ear, "and baby, I've got a hundred and twenty years of killing on top of your three." He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "Now, it's dark. I suggest you go and find yourself someone to eat, and hopefully, we'll be gone by the time you get back."

Harmony glared at him, but for once knew enough not to say a word. She slowly stepped away from the wall, casting one last distasteful look at Whistler before running out the entrance way.

Spike sighed and shrugged. "Women. Always getting in the way of things. And that one especially."

Whistler nodded. "Well, it's better she's not involved anyway." He paused. "You know you can't tell Buffy about any of this, right? He'll see it. I mean, if you see her, you can talk to her. Elton'll probably be suspicious if you didn't. But you can't tell her anything about seeing me or the plan."

"What, do you think I'm stupid?" Spike snapped. "Of course I know I can't tell her anything. I wasn't planning on even going near her."

"Elton will want you to. To play both sides." Whistler started searching his pockets until he finally found what he was looking for. He held up a plastic bag, holding what appeared to be an ounce of weed.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You want to get high at a time like this? Can't say I have much faith in The Powers if this is your idea of averting an apocalypse."

Whistler rolled his eyes. "No, it's not pot, although I can't say I'd be opposed. It's an herb. More specifically, the herb I need to shield this meeting from Elton. Now, be a good vampire and sit. I just need to do a few preparatory rituals."

* * *

Spike eased himself back into the barstool for what felt like the hundredth time that night. His careful watch on the entrance door was beginning to feel much like an exercise program in itself. He mentally chided himself for being so obvious. The bartender was eying him suspiciously already.

Oh, great. Now he was nervous. Since when had that happened? He began to think back on the spell Whistler had done, going through the procedure in his mind and trying to figure if there was anything Whistler could have missed. If the spell backfired, he was dead. And Spike had plenty of experience in magic backfiring.

"I thought I told you to leave town."

Spike spun around, and sure enough, Elton was not 6 inches away from him. _Funny, I don't remember hearing the door._ Spike shrugged, and assumed an air of nonchalance. "Didn't much feel like it. I'll be damned if a bleedin' nancy boy such as yourself sends me packing."

Elton scowled at him, and a deep guttural sound emulated from his chest.

Spike raised an eyebrow, generally amused. "Are you growling? Come now, there's no call for animalistic behavior."

Elton's arm shot out and grabbed Spike by the throat. "I warned you about that mouth of yours," he sneered.

"Did you forget that I don't breath?" Spike choked out.

"No," Elton replied, tightening his grip. Spike felt the bones in his neck begin to strain. Another minute of pressure, and they would snap. Not fatal or anything, but damn painful. He held up his hands in gesture of defeat. Elton released him.

"Fine, fine," Spike rasped. "I didn't leave because I need something from you."

"What could you possible need from me, and why the hell would I be inclined to give it to you?"

Spike gestured to the bartender for another drink before turning back to Elton. "I heard some things," he said quietly. "About you. What you're capable of doing."

"And?"

"And I thought you could help me out with a little problem that's been pissing me off for about three years now. A little government microchip in my head. It prevents me from doing things."

Elton closed his eyes, and Spike bristled, keenly aware that Elton was probably reading him at that moment. He willed himself not to think of Buffy, even though he was aware that Elton couldn't see his thoughts. The part deep inside of him that was devoted to her in every sense of the word screamed at him to protect her from Elton's probing mind. So he thought of mundane things. Eating buffalo wings. Smoking a fag. Listening to Sex Pistols at the highest volume mark. He had just been mentally going through the lyrics of "Anarchy in the UK" when Elton's eyes flew open.

"See anything you like?" Spike asked dryly.

Elton remained unsmiling. "I see you're a traitor to your kind. But I guess that's not your fault." He shrugged. "To be honest, I already knew about the chip. Not everything, but enough."

Spike sucked in a breath. "So you'll help me?"

"Not so fast. If I were to do something to that extreme, I would require your assistance in another matter."

"And what's that?"

"I'll need you to kill the Slayer."

Spike swallowed, trying to remind himself not to sound overeager. "Kill her? Why do you need her dead?"

"I have my reasons. You don't really need to know them, do you? From what I've seen, you have plenty of reasons to want her dead as well. Am I wrong?"

Spike shrugged. "The bitch was good for some things. I don't really care either way, though. If it means getting the chip out …" he trailed off.

Elton stared at him, and Spike was suddenly faced with the realization that this was the true test. Not the little trip through his mind that Elton had went on earlier. But the intense scrutiny he was under at this very moment. He willed himself to stare back at him, unblinking, until Elton broke the stand off with a quick shake of his head. "Come with me," he said tonelessly, as he walked towards the doorway. Spike followed him out of the bar to the side alley, where Elton suddenly stopped. "Now," he said, "this might hurt a little."

He placed his hand on the base of Spike's skull, and Spike tried not to flinch. He idly wondered if Elton had seen right through him, and if he was willingly allowing himself to be put in a vulnerable position where Elton could just kill him then and there. But all thoughts quickly exited his mind when the blinding pain set in. His head felt like it was being crushed and stabbed through all at the same time. He screamed out in agony, struggling against Elton's grip. But then there was a feeling of pressure, and then like something had ripped out of his head, and the pain was gone. Elton held up the blood-covered piece of silver in his hands, staring at it in fascination, and Spike couldn't help but stare too.

"Was that it?" he asked breathlessly. "Three years, and it was that easy?"

Elton nodded, and smiled widely. "So, now that that's done and over with, how about a trip to Sunnydale?"


	8. Returning

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 8: Returning**

Buffy glanced up at Giles, wondering at his calm expression. She didn't understand how he could just stand there, after everything that had happened, without so much as a "Dear Lord." Instead, he seemed to be in some sort of trance, staring down at what Buffy had brought to him – part of the damned remains of Jonathan. He knew that they should call the police, have them retrieve it. But he couldn't help but just _stare_, stunned into quiet contemplation at this horrific act.

Giles had seen death before. Hell, death had been in his bed, waiting for his return. Death had been haunting him all of last summer, whispering words of accusation at having failed his surrogate daughter. Oh, death had been breathing down his neck for as long as he could remember. They were old friends. But death had really thrown him for a loop this time. Because before, death had a reason, a goal. This time, there was nothing but the bleeding parts of a some-time friend, left in graveyards, schools, and backyards alike, waiting for the world to discover them. There was no reason. Just pure and gruesome evil.

That should have made it easier. To know that the enemy had not one drop of good in him, to know that there would be absolutely no guilt in killing him. Giles had been dealing with shades of gray for so long that he often had wished that it would be more clear-cut, more apparent that they were, in fact, doing the right thing. When Buffy had to send Angel to hell, he often chastised himself for having let their relationship progress as far as it had. He was a vampire. She should have dusted him, regardless of his soul. And Spike with the whole chip scenario. Giles knew that he was still inherently evil, yet he allowed him to exist, live among his Slayer and her friends. Oh, when all was said and done, Giles preferred to see most things as evil, but that damn gray area … But none of that mattered now. It wasn't easier knowing that their enemy was evil. All it did was strike just a little bit more fear into his heart.

"Giles," Buffy edged closer, nervously tucking her hair behind an ear. "Say something."

Giles slowly brought his eyes to hers. "I'm afraid that we're extremely ill-prepared for this sort of thing. Is there any way you can convince Angel to come and help?"

Buffy shook her head, breaking her eyes away from his. "He was kinda already here. And a lot's happening in his life right now."

Giles narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I don't really want to talk about it, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me to either."

Giles nodded resignedly, bringing his eyes back to … it. "We must call the police," he said distantly.

"Of course." Buffy started towards the kitchen to retrieve the phone.

"Wait." Giles grabbed her arm, gazing at her wearily. "Spike? Will he come back? His contacts in the demon world might be of some use."

_Hmm. So he_ had _seen right through Anya's decorating dilemma explanation. Great._

Giles tried not to notice the wistfulness in Buffy's eyes as he mentioned the vampire's name. She covered quickly, shaking her head emphatically. "No, I'm pretty sure he'll never set foot in this town again. We had this big fight," she lied. "You know, vampire pride and all that. We'll just have to do without him. We have before." She smiled slightly.

"Yes, we have. But we always knew what we were dealing with, Buffy. We have no idea who or what did this. There's too many questions and not enough answers. We need all the help we can get."

"I don't know what to tell you, Giles," Buffy said after a lengthy pause. "I don't know where he is. It's not like he was obligated to tell me, or anything."

Giles sighed. "I know. You're right. I suppose we'll have to make do. I have a few associates that I can question. Now, why don't you call the police." He smiled weakly, and watched as she exited the room.

After the police had arrived, and all of their questions had been answered – namely, what was Buffy doing in the graveyard in the middle of the night anyway? To which her answer had been "visiting her mother" – Buffy slipped quietly into her sister's room, watching Dawn's sleeping form. When she was satisfied that Dawn was asleep for the night, she tip-toed into her room, shutting the door with a barely audible click, and turned to her bed only to yelp in surprise. "Geez, Willow," she griped, sitting next to the red head on her bed. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry."

They sat together in silence, each gathering the roller coaster of thoughts bumping around in their minds. When Buffy could stand the quiet no longer, she finally stood up and turned to Willow. "Will, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but … was there something you wanted?"

Willow looked down at her toes and then up at Buffy, and then back down at her toes again. "Well, I just … we're still friends, right?" she blurted out.

Buffy furrowed her brow. "Of course we are. Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know…" She chewed listlessly on a hangnail. "I guess I just … well, since you came back … I've felt kind of like you don't want me around or something." She hung her head.

"That's ridiculous." Buffy sat back down on the bed next to her, taking one of her hands in hers. "You know that's not true."

"Do I?" Willow's head shot up as she gently pulled her hand away from Buffy's. "I can't help but get the feeling that you're blaming me for everything that's happened to you this last year. And I know that stuff is going on with you, and you won't even tell me about it. Even _Anya_ knows something!"

Buffy froze. "Did she tell you something about me?"

"No. I just saw how you two were acting yesterday. She was protecting you, Buffy. I mean, come _on_. We all know that Spike is not in Rome picking out stuff for his crypt when he can be stealing perfectly good stuff in Sunnydale."

Buffy smiled wryly. _She had a point there …_

"And it's not like I care that you talk to Anya," Willow went on. "Well, I do care, but that's not the point." She stared at her, her eyes full of hurt. "I asked you, Buffy. I asked you so many times to talk to me. Tell me what was going on. That night on the porch … I know something happened with Spike. You can at least have the decency to admit you were lying to me."

"Will," Buffy breathed, closing her eyes. "I was lying to you."

"And?"

"And what?"

Willow sighed sadly. "Never mind. It's obvious you would rather talk to _Anya_ about all this stuff anyway." She had planned to keep her tone neutral, but it all came out dripping with resentment. She purposefully stood up, intent on leaving.

"Will … please don't be angry. It's not like I talked to Anya. She just knew some stuff already. I'm not trying to replace you as a best friend or anything."

Willow turned around, her eyes cold and accusing. "Yes, you are. You can't stand to look at me because I'm the one that brought you back to … _this_!" She spread her arms wide. "Well, we've been playing this game for 6 months now, Buffy. I'm done. I wish I'd never brought you back in the first place." The last statement was muttered, but Buffy heard it and gasped, her eyes already brimming with tears.

Willow turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her. She felt her own tears start to build as she ran down the stairs, effectively maneuvering around Giles as he tried to ask her what was wrong, until she was finally out the front door, running as fast she could into the dark night.

* * *

"It's all so messed up."

Tara opened her apartment door wider, allowing her ex-lover to enter. Willow strode in, a nervous and angry ball of energy, fidgeting constantly as she paced around the room.

"Whoa, calm down." Tara smiled. "You're starting to remind me of Dawn."

Willow stopped pacing and dropped down onto the couch. "I'm sorry to bother you like this. I just didn't know where else to go."

Tara shrugged and sat down beside her. "Willow, you'll always be welcome here. No matter what happens."

Willow flashed her a tiny smile and sighed. "Thanks."

"So … what's so messed up?"

"Everything. I just can't believe I wouldn't see it before. Usually, I'm all with the awareness ability. But it just left. Like, Poof!"

Tara knitted her eyebrows together. "Sweetie, what couldn't you see?"

"How bad things got between me and Buffy. At first, I thought, you know, she came back from the dead, it's probably going to take a while before things are normal again. But then we found out she was in heaven, and she was blaming me the whole time for taking her out of there."

"Willow, I'm sure she wasn't blaming-"

"And then," Willow pressed on, "there's this whole, like, secret thing going on between Buffy and Anya."

"Secret thing?"

"Yeah, you didn't see it. But yesterday, Anya was totally covering for Buffy. And something's going on with Spike also, but she won't tell me anything!"

Tara tensed up at the mention of Spike, knowing full well what had been going on, but in no position to reveal to Willow any of the specifics. She avoided her eyes, hoping Willow wouldn't notice how uncomfortable she was at that moment.

Luckily, Willow was oblivious, her expression softening as the tears began to collect in her eyes, finally spilling onto her pink cheeks. "It's just so awful," she said miserably. "How two people can be so close and all of a sudden, it's like we're complete strangers." She stared at Tara pointedly, unknowingly tugging at the blond wicca's heart. She dropped her gaze.

"Oh, Tara! I didn't mean you. I was just … talking, and when that happens, stupid things come out, followed by even stupider things, and-"

Tara cut off her words with her mouth, lightly parting Willow's lips with her tongue as she grabbed a fistful of red hair in one of her hands. Her other hand glided up Willow's back soothingly, her finger nails scratching through the material. Willow hesitantly brought her hands up to Tara's face, lightly cupping it as she returned the kiss, her tongue intertwining with Tara's. Tara moaned softly, and Willow slid one hand slowly down Tara's chest, lingering for a moment on the curve of her breast until sliding down her stomach. She pulled at the bottom of Tara's shirt, before yanking it over her head.

They stared at each other for a moment. Willow gazed through desire-darkened eyes, taking in Tara's swollen lips, the way she was panting in tiny little gasps, and her eyes … God, her eyes. Fathomless blue that always threatened to draw her in, drown her. They were staring at her now with quiet intensity, willing her to touch her. Willow closed her eyes, unable to believe that this was happening. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Tara nodded solemnly. "We've been wasting so much time. I know that now. I love you, Willow. There's no use being apart anymore."

Willow thought she felt something burst in her chest at Tara's heart-felt admission. "Oh, God, I missed you," she whispered as she leaned into her. Their lips came together, soft meeting soft, as their hands roamed each other's body, desperate to commit to memory every curve, as if they hadn't done it all before. Through their explorations, clothes were shed in record time, and both lovers smiled contentedly as they fell into each other's arms, skin on skin, mouth to mouth, breast to breast. Tara sighed into her mouth, settling back into the couch as Willow covered her body with her own.

They moved together as if they had never been apart, soft sighs escalating into keening implorations, as they surged through past heartache and toward desperate release. And when they arrived, together as always, Tara gazed at Willow, unable to catch her breath. She held out her arms, and Willow fell into them, trailing butterfly kisses up her neck, around the curve of her jaw, and to her lips.

They lay entangled in each others' arms for a while, no words between them, just unspoken declarations of love. Tara finally rose, gently moving Willow off of her while grabbing her hand. Willow smiled as she realized she was leading her to the bedroom. "I guess I'll be spending the night," she said shyly.

Tara grinned back at her. "Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd spend all the nights."

* * *

Spike cursed as his nose caught a whiff of burning hair. He quickly reached a hand up to his head, finding his singed locks still warm. _Bloody teleportation._

He took note of his surroundings. Elton was standing next to him, busying himself with a cell phone call that he had decided was absolutely necessary to make as soon as they arrived. Spike tuned him out, walking around the abandoned structure they had "landed" in, noticing the cold stone ground, the blackened support beams … _Bloody hell_. They were in the old High School. Directly on top of the Hellmouth.

Elton approached him, having finished with his phone call. "I thought you'd appreciate the irony," he explained. "You're first battle with the Slayer was here, and now you're last battle will be here."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Care to let me in on the plan?"

Elton studied him for a moment and shook his head, smiling ruefully. "All in good time. Now, I'm going to meet up with our new associates. The rest of my crew won't be arriving until tomorrow at the earliest. Why don't you get yourself something to eat." He grinned at Spike before he disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

Spike felt his heart catch in throat at the mere mention of the word "eat", and it suddenly dawned on him that he was free to do just that. He slowly made his way out of the ruins, ducking under collapsed beams and avoiding the sharp pieces of wood jutting out at every angle.

After a while, he found himself in town, following a crowd of people leaving the movie theatre, trying to blend in with the guileless teenagers that had no clue what danger lurked behind them. He watched as they gradually began to separate from each other, the group becoming smaller as a few reached their cars and drove off. Eventually, there was only one girl left, walking rapidly down Main Street, hands buried deep in her light jacket pockets, as she scuttled towards the residential part of town. Spike followed her from a distance, never losing sight of her, even as she turned the corner at Esquire Drive. He could hear her heart rate increase as he turned as well. _Damn. She knows I'm following her._ Spike rolled his eyes at his own incompetence. There had been a time when his victims hadn't known that death was upon them until their blood had already been drained from their bodies, their eyes full of confusion as their lifeless bodies fell to the ground. He chalked it up to lack of practice, but then remembered with a certain degree of irony that he had spent the better part of last year stalking Buffy from afar. Granted, she had known he was there, most of the time. But she was a Slayer. This girl was …

… being hunted. He stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to analyze what he was about to do. He was hunting. A human. His demon nearly swooned with excitement at the prospect, almost as if it was licking its chops. But his heart was screaming at him to stop. _What would Buffy think?_ He ordered the latter to shut the hell up, and continued following the girl at a slow pace. She was definitely nervous now, nearly tripping over her own feet as she quickened her pace. Spike matched her stride, determined to satisfy the demon inside of him.

And when she ran into a small white house a few streets down, heart racing with fear as she shakily slipped the key into the lock, he told himself that it wouldn't have been safe to move on her. That too many people could have seen.

He glanced around the neighborhood. All of the houses were dark, and he could hear many of the inhabitants' deep rhythmic breathing. _Spike, you bloody wanker_.

He wasn't surprised when he found himself in his cemetery, walking through the lines of graves as if it were some beaten path (and it was, in a way) to his home. His stopped walking when his vampiric senses picked up the scent. _Oh God. It's her._ He caught sight of her as he slouched behind a tree, watching her in action, fighting four freshly risen vamps. He couldn't help but be in awe of her, the speed at which she moved, how easy she made it look. Within a minute, all four vamps were dust, and she stood brushing herself off self-consciously.

Spike decided she had never looked more beautiful.

All of a sudden, Buffy's back straightened, and she slowly brought her head around to his direction. _Oh fuck_. He quickly ducked behind the tree, silently praying she hadn't seen him. It wasn't time yet.

After what seemed like an eternity, he ventured a peek from behind the tree, and he didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

She was gone, the only evidence of her having been there the faint scent of vanilla riding on the night's gentle breeze.


	9. Answers

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 9: Answers**

Buffy swung the front door open, head down as she dragged her feet through the entrance way. It had been a tiring night. Not so much with the slaying, but the emotional fallout between herself and Willow had been replaying in her mind like a skipping record. She pushed the painful memories to the back of her mind, determined to just relax and watch some television.

The sight that met her eyes when she entered the living room stopped her in her tracks. She frowned, wondering if she had been so tired that she had actually stepped into the wrong house, and decided to test that theory by slowly backing up and checking the number on the door. Nope. She was in the right house. She cautiously stepped back through the doorway, raising an eyebrow when she finally caught sight of a familiar face.

"Giles? What the hell is going on here?"

Giles lay in the middle of the floor, amidst a sea of empty beer bottles and various labels of Johnny Walker. Chattering amiable around him were five or six red-skinned demons that, Buffy noticed, with a certain degree of satisfaction, were actually shorter than her. At her outburst, the demons turned to her, taking in her slight form with suspicious eyes and … _ugghh! Was that one checking me out?_ Giles had the grace to look sheepish, bowing his head as he scrambled to his feet.

"Buffy, ah … we weren't expecting you back so early."

"Obviously."

"Well, I did warn you not to leave the bar," piped a familiar voice from the corner. Buffy turned her head and noticed Anya, huddled on the sofa with Xander, who was eying the label of his Heineken like it had some sort of life revelation printed on it. "Buffy was bound to get home sooner or later, and with the mood she's been in lately …" Anya trailed off, catching sight of Buffy's displeased expression and decided to shut her mouth. Instead, she shrank back against Xander, who promptly lost his balance and collapsed into the couch, giggling.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she turned back to Giles, who was attempting to avoid, and not very well, the bottles lining the floor. His foot caught on one them, and it took all of his efforts not to fall flat on his face, as he propelled himself towards Buffy. "Buffy, I was just getting …" he glanced toward the red-skinned demons, and then whispered, "… information."

Buffy furrowed her brow, and cocked her head to one side. "Giles, are you _drunk_?"

"No, of course not," he slurred, and Buffy wrinkled her nose as the smell of hard alcohol invaded her senses. "Well, maybe just a little," he conceded after noting her disbelieving look. He turned back to the demons, and nodded at the one closest to him. "Just going to have a word with my friend here, Merv. I'll be back shortly." The demon nodded curtly, and Giles led Buffy into the kitchen.

"Care to explain why a few of the demon underworld are making themselves at home in my living room?" Buffy asked once she was sure they were out of earshot.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but it was necessary to ensure we would be able to get the information that was needed."

"What information?"

"About our enemy."

Buffy leaned back onto the counter. "And?"

"And our enemy goes by the name of Elton. The Puisie Midgets were approached by him a few weeks back, in New York. It seems that Elton is recruiting for something. The Puisie are convinced that it's some sort of war against humans."

"So, in other words, another friggin' apocalypse."

"Precisely. Now, I don't know when Elton decided to set up shop in Sunnydale. All indications were that this war was to be set in New York. Somewhere along the line, Elton changed gears. I'm assuming that he learned of your identity, and is determined to eliminate you before he starts his demon crusade."

Buffy sighed. "And here I thought that he just had a really twisted way of extending the hand of friendship."

"This is serious, Buffy. From all accounts, this Elton is an extremely formidable enemy, one I think we haven't seen the likes of as yet."

"That's what you said about Glory."

"Glory, at least, had a weak spot. Elton has none to speak of. Now, we must formulate a plan of action. Merv seems to know where Elton is staying. I was just about to get it out of him before you showed up. I'm afraid," he looked at her nervously, "they don't really like you much. It might be better if you left."

Buffy stared at him. "You're kidding, right? I mean, they know this is _my_ house, right?"

Giles nodded. "Of course. But I've found it much easier to establish meaningful dialogue with them when they don't feel threatened and when they're … well, to put it bluntly, thoroughly pissed."

"As in drunk."

"Correct."

"Ahh … so all those years I spent beating the information out of demons could have been avoided if I had just bought them a few cases of beer and partied."

"Your sarcasm is noted, however I do feel that this is the most effective way to get what we need."

"And Xander and Anya?"

"Pardon?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You know, the other drunk guy in there and his kinda sorta girlfriend?"

"Yes, what about them?"

"What exactly are they doing?"

"Actually, Anya has been quite useful in a demon-diplomatic sense. She convinced them not to kill me after selling them a few bad bushels of weed, after all."

"I'm not even going to ask."

"Burba weed. Burba."

"Said I wasn't going to ask. Anyway, just make sure Xander doesn't drink anymore." She ventured a peek into the living room and grimaced. "I think he's going to start Snoopy dancing on my mother's coffee table." She started towards the kitchen door, but stopped before reaching it, turning to face her Watcher. "Just in case I haven't told you yet, thank you."

Giles looked surprised. "For what?"

"For coming back. When I asked you to, I didn't really give you a lot of details, and you still came. It … it means a lot. To know that you still … oh, you know what I mean." With that, she turned back towards the door and quietly left the house.

Giles stared at the door for a few moments, letting her words sink in. She had thought that he didn't care. All this time he had been hoping that she had seen his departure for what it was – a way for her to grow up. But she had thought … He rubbed his eyes wearily, deciding to get back to business with the Puisie midgets. As he entered the living room, he sighed at the sight before him.

"Xander Harris, pull those back up immediately!"

* * *

It was stupid, really. One moment of letting his guard down and he was discovered. He should have known.

Spike had felt the urge to return to some place familiar after having seen Buffy patrol. Some place where he could feel close to her without actually _being_ close to her. His first thought had been the condemned house, but after a few moments of deliberation, he decided to nix that idea because a) it was too close to the Magic Box, and b) there really wasn't much in the way of entertainment. After awhile, he had settled on the Bronze, if and only if none of her insane friends happened to be frequenting that night. He made a point of standing off to the side, stealing glimpses of the interior of the club as patrons went in and out of the entrance way. When he was pretty confident that no one he knew was in there (and when he had received enough looks from people suspecting he was casing the joint), he cautiously entered and sat himself at the bar. Because it all came down to alcohol. Great amounts of alcohol. As quickly as possible.

Things had been good … for about an hour. Spike had been careful to keep his eyes on the door at all times, slugging back as much JD as possible without raising the bartender's suspicions. And then the band took a break, prompting the DJ to rise to the occasion. And Spike knew he was fucked as the first few chords of the song started. The song he had last danced to with Buffy. The _only_ song they had danced to. He resisted the urge to hurl a table at the DJ, and instead, paid for the bottle of Jack, suddenly not caring what the fuck the bartender thought as he made his way up to the catwalk. Images of her, her body molded to his, swaying seductively to Bono's voice, her soft breath panting in his ear.

_Love is blindness_  
_I don't want to see_  
_Won't you wrap the night _  
_Around me_  
_Oh my love_  
_Blindness_

He placed his hands on the railing overlooking the dance floor, and closed his eyes. God, how he wanted to forget. Forget that he ever met her, loved her, touched her, fucked her. How she changed him. He guzzled down what was left of the bottle.

_A little death_  
_Without mourning_  
_No call_  
_And no warning_  
_Baby a dangerous idea_  
_That almost makes sense_

It was with an inexplicable sense of certainty that he knew she was there. Not just in the Bronze, but right behind him. He dropped the bottle, listening to the clink of glass on metal as it hit the floor. He heard her breath hitch in her throat, heard her heart beat fluttering beneath her chest.

"I felt you," she said quietly. "You were there. In the cemetery."

Spike nodded, still not turning to face her. "Well, I didn't want to interrupt. Seemed like you had it handled."

"Why won't you look at me?"

_Because if I do, I'm going to take you right here on this railing._

He turned to her, careful to avoid her eyes. "Just passing through, in case you were wondering. Not plannin' on stayin'."

"Oh."

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, listening to the song fade into another, more upbeat number. Buffy tried to control her breathing, unable to believe that he was actually there, standing in front of her. She licked her lips. "Listen, Spike. I know you said you needed to leave, not be around me anymore, but Giles is back, and he was kinda asking me to find you. For your help."

"S'that right? Watcher finally shows after God knows how many months of abandoning you and wants _my_ help? For what?"

Buffy shifted from one foot to the other. "There's this guy. Well, this demon-guy. He wants me dead. I know, I know, not very original. But he seems to be extremely powerful."

"How so?"

"Powerful enough to rip Jonathan apart into an uncertain number of pieces."

"Well, that's just brute strength. _I_ could do that, if I wanted to."

She tried not to wince at his bluntness. "Well, there's more to it than that. He has a following. A big demon following. Apparently, he wants to start a war of some kind."

Spike closed his eyes and looked at the ground. Elton. Great. And now he was going to have to play dumb. "Well, don't know how I can be of help, seeing as I haven't really been in the loop as of late. 'Sides, I was only plannin' on being here for a few more hours."

Buffy nodded. "Of course." She sighed softly. "Well, I'm sorry I bothered you then." She looked up at him expectantly, hoping for … something. She didn't know what. Just as long as he wasn't staring at the ground, at anything but her. But he refused to meet her eyes.

"Well, I best be going," he said quietly. He turned to the stairwell, stopped, and then looked over his shoulder. "Goodbye … Buffy," he whispered. And once again, he was gone.

Buffy fought the tears that were stinging her eyes. She cursed herself for letting him affect her this way. He wasn't supposed to be able to.

* * *

He left the Bronze, his whole body fighting against him as he did so, wanting to go back to her. It took all the self-control he had in him not to look back. He thought it had been hard to leave before …

He wandered aimlessly, weaving his way through the streets and alleys of Sunnydale. And he was more than a little surprised when his feet stopped moving in front of the house. The house where it all began. He stared at the broken structure, marveling at the state of destruction it was in. How one night of passion between two supernatural beings could reduce it to the crumbling mass of two-by-fours it was now. He should have realized it back then. When they came together, all it caused was destruction.

"Spike." She whispered his name, voice breaking ever so slightly.

He had been so immersed in thought he hadn't sensed her. Which was strange, because he could sense her anywhere, miles away even. And when he turned to her, took in her watery hazel eyes, pleading with him, he knew all was lost.

His resolve melted with one word from her, and they came together fiercely, mouths fused as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him, so close she couldn't breathe. But who needed to breathe really when his tongue was inside her mouth, tasting her own? And she knew that she had missed kissing Spike most of all. The way he kissed her like there was no one else in the world, that there had never even _been_ anyone else.

She felt his hardness grinding into her belly as his hands slid behind her, cupping her ass. Her body responded almost automatically. She felt the throbbing between her legs at about the same time he sensed it. And then he broke away, a slight smile playing on his lips as he cocked his head to one side. And how she wanted to smack that look off his face. That look that penetrated every fiber of her being, turning what little willpower she had left to jelly. That look that told her he knew her, knew what she needed, better than she knew herself. And then he placed his hand between her legs, sending electric shocks of pleasure all through her body, and she promptly forgot about smacking him. She panted softly in his ear as he ground his palm into her, his fingers lightly scraping the fabric over her center. She was losing herself to him fast, she could feel it, and with the last vestige of clarity in her, she centered her thoughts on one thing. _Inside. Must get inside the house._

With a coy smile, she gently pushed him away from her and grabbed his hand. He stared at her hand in his as if it were some alien concept as she led him under the yellow police tape and into the condemned house. It was silly, really. To be so happy with something as simple as her holding his hand. But it was an intimacy never explored before just the same. One of those little things he dreamed of when she had laid in his arms, too tired after one of their marathon sessions to protest.

She backed up against the one remaining wall of the house, her eyes never leaving his. She could hear her heart beating in her throat, her senses on overdrive. And he was staring back at her, his face expressionless as he studied her, eyes silently roaming over every detail of her body. He wanted to remember her like this forever. Aroused, vulnerable, and aching for him to touch her. Normally, this would have been the point where he would make some sort of pointed remark about how he was going to give it to her good. But no words were needed now. They already knew what he was capable of.

Slowly, he leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers softly. She closed her eyes to his tenderness, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. He pressed his body into hers, feeling her breasts crush against his chest, and before she knew what was happening he was slipping his hand into her pants, gently stroking over her panties. She moaned, wordlessly begging him to take her, make her forget about everything but the age-old dance that was him and her. He removed her clothes slowly, until she stood shivering and naked before him, and all he could do was stare at the beauty before him, lost in this girl over a hundred years younger than he, this girl that he had both loved and hated with a fiery passion that consumed every part of him until it left him gasping in wonder.

She reached a hand out to him, grazing his cheek softly, trying to bring him back to her. He turned his face away for a moment, unwilling to let her see just how affected he was by her. She would have none of that, though. With both hands, she forced him to look in her eyes, and when she saw what he had been hiding from her, she took a step back. He knew he had broken the unspoken rule between them. No declarations of love, verbal or otherwise. _Well, she wanted to know._ He advanced on her, roughly grabbing her shoulders as he crushed his mouth to hers, not caring if he was hurting her. She whimpered softly in protest, but that only made him more aggressive. He slipped his hand in between her thighs, spread them open and plunged two fingers into her. She cried out in pain, initially shocked at his roughness. But as he slid his fingers in and out of her, his thumb resting on her clit, her arousal amplified, and she forgot about the pain.

He gently pushed her to the ground, willing her to lie on her back. She winced as she felt the cold cement beneath her, but quickly warmed as Spike lay his body on top of her. He was running his hands all over her, up her sides, over her breast, then down to her thighs. She removed his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. She ran her fingers up his chest, pausing slightly to tweak his nipple. And it was all she could do not to smile as he hissed at the sensation.

The scent of her arousal was driving him mad. Slowly, he crawled down her body, gently spreading her legs wider as he regarded her with lust-filled eyes. He lowered his lips to her thighs, and she brought her legs together a little when his tongue touched her opening, but he gently pushed them open again, licking a straight line up to her center. She moaned as he flitted his tongue against her sensitive nub, her head thrashing wildly on the ground as his tongue persisted.

His erection excruciatingly uncomfortable, he flipped her over onto her stomach, drawing her ass up into the air as she put her arms out to steady herself. She cried out when he entered her, gasping for air even as she pushed back into him, longing for him to be still deeper inside. He grunted at her impatience, curling his body on top of hers as he thrust into her, deeper and deeper, grasping her breasts in both hands. She moaned loudly, matching each of his thrusts with one of her own, until he was almost dizzy with desire.

As he felt her getting closer to orgasm, he withdrew, flipping her over once again so she was on her back. He pulled her legs up so her ankles rested on his shoulders, and leaned into her, entering her with one swift movement, watching as her eyes rolled up in her head, overcome with ecstasy. They were moaning together now, each thrust of his hips bringing them closer to release. And when she came, she yelled his name, digging her fingernails into his back. It was enough to send him over the edge as well, and he roared as he spilled inside of her.

Buffy's legs lay quivering around him as he collapsed on top of her. She circled her arms around him, hugging him to her, gradually strengthening her hold. She didn't want to let him go.

Eventually, he realized what she was doing and looked up at her. She haphazardly brushed away the tears trickling down her cheeks, not wanting him to see. He stared up at her, his eyes questioning hers, willing her to tell him what was wrong.

But she wouldn't tell him now. There would be no words tonight. Instead, she smiled slightly, leaned into him, and kissed him softly. He thought his heart would break at the show of tenderness that she was usually so quick to mock had it been coming from him.

After a time, she pulled away and rolled onto her side, dragging his arms over her so that he would still be holding her.

"Promise me you'll never let me go," she whispered.

"Never let you go," he murmured sleepily.

She knew it was a lie, but she drifted off peacefully just the same.


	10. Truth Be Told

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 10: Truth Be Told**

Dreams. Dreams of skin on skin, soft breath in his ear, whispering to make her whole, make her alive. Undaunted want turned into need, need to be close, be inside of her in every sense – her body, her heart, her soul. And then a sudden transition, a cold gust of wind, a dark crypt, and her words: "I can't love you." All swirling around in a haze of broken memories, sharp and painful. And his desire to fill her world crushed by the bang of the crypt door closing behind her.

Spike gazed at the sleeping body tucked in his arms, unable to tear his eyes away from her. She was dreaming, every so often sighing softly, shifting her hips so she lay even closer, her bottom molded into his groin. He lightly ran his fingers over her bare arm, his fingernails sliding to form small circles and various other patterns, always wanting to touch her, amazed at the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands. How this woman could make him want to abandon 120 years of demon nature, make him want to repent for every crime against humanity committed, his and others included. How she could make him want to be a man.

Even as these thoughts past through his mind, something was scratching around inside of him. At first, it was just a small titter tatter lurking somewhere in his mind, just letting itself be known. Gradually, it began to increase, banging on the walls, screaming to be heard. And with a sinking heart and a sense of trepidation, Spike realized that he had seriously miscalculated.

_Elton._

His hand stilled on her arm, reality rushing back to him. How stupid could he be? He decided not to grace that with an answer – he was well aware of how stupid most of his actions tended to be. But to put her in danger like that, to totally blow away any chance he had at foiling Elton, just because of one simple word from her. She had melted his resolve with those eyes of hers, pleading with him to take away the hurt, to prove that she hadn't lost him. And now he was left in the wake of his own failure, never having the strength to resist her. He was royally screwed.

_Or, maybe not._

With grim determination, he began to unwrap himself from her, gathering his clothes in a small heap before him. She began to stir as her body registered the loss of contact, and then there was that cute squeaky noise she always made upon waking. He closed his eyes as he pushed his legs through his pants. This was going to be hard.

He tried to tell himself that this was the only way, rationalizing that what he was about to do would be better for everyone in the long run. But the selfish part of him, the part that was fulfilled in every way at having gained her back, was unwilling to let him risk this. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there would be no coming back. Whatever chance he had with her, even if it was only the tiniest shred, would be smashed like the house they now lay in.

Still, it had to be done.

She stretched lazily, slinking an arm around his waist. Gently pushing it off of him, he stood, jerking his pants up. She sat up slowly, brow furrowed.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice taking on that tone that always reminded him of a little girl.

He steeled himself. "Oh, you know. Figured I was done here. Got things to do."

And now she was really confused, folding her arms over her bare breasts and trying to ignore the shiver of dread that ran up her spine. "What do you mean? I thought …"

"You thought? Now there's a new development."

He thought he saw a flash of anger pass through her features, but then it was gone, replaced by an uncertain smile. She thought he was just teasing her. "Spike, don't go."

"Why not?" He reached for his t-shirt, hastily pulling it over his head. He turned his back to her, rooting around his pockets for his cigarettes.

"Because … I don't want you to. You don't have to leave town. I … need you here. I need you to stay."

"Oh, so you need me now? And I should just, what? Drop to my knees and thank your sanctimonious ass for the privilege? Please," he scoffed.

Buffy bit her lower lip. "Ok, obviously you're angry about something. What's wrong? Is it something I did?" Her voice was nearly shaking as she began to dress herself.

He turned to her then, and she felt her heart grow cold as she saw his eyes, impassive and unfeeling. "Oh, no," he said. "You didn't do anything wrong." He took a step closer to her, his face contorting into a sneer. "Never was anything wrong with what you do. Right good shag, you are. The things you do …" His eyes swept down her body, and he laughed. "Well, let's just say I haven't seen some of those moves since Dru and I spent that one Easter in the Red Light District."

Her hand was flying before she knew it, striking him across the face hard. He looked momentarily surprised, staring at her hand that she now fisted at her side. He tsked her, wagging a finger in front of her nose. "Touchy little thing, aren't you?" She slapped his finger out of the way, her eyes burning. "Another round, then? Something to remember me by?" He advanced on her, pushing her backwards until she felt her back crash into the wall. His hands ran up her body roughly, his eyes trained on her breasts, and Buffy did the only thing that came to mind.

She kneed him.

Pain exploded in his groin, and Spike stepped back, slightly hunched as he grabbed the wounded appendage. His eyes flashed yellow. "Bitch!" The demon emerged, rising up so abruptly that it even surprised him. And then he was upon her, fangs descending.

Buffy sprang to action, side-stepping and quickly grabbing one of his wrists. She twisted it sharply, bringing him to his knees as she jerked his arm up, causing him to yelp in pain. "I don't know what the hell happened to you to make you act this way," she hissed. "But you've crossed the line now. If you come near me or my friends again, I _will_ kill you." She released him, pushing him across the room.

Spike stood up slowly, for a moment, looking like he was about to attack again, but then his features changed, reverting back to human guise. He started laughing. "Idle threats. Let's see, you told that to Angelus how many times before he killed that teacher of yours?"

Buffy closed her eyes. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "It's in my nature. That's what you were always trying to tell me. Reckon I've finally figured it out." He paused. "Guess all it took was a little chipectomy."

Her eyes flew open, the meaning of his words hitting her full force. She stepped back. "No, you can't be serious. The Initiative's own doctors couldn't do it."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm resourceful." He advanced on her again, stopping just short of her. She tried not to flinch as his eyes penetrated hers, oozing malice. "Something had to change, Slayer. You couldn't have been so naïve to think that I would be your whipping boy forever." He cocked his head to one side. "Then again, you were never really that bright to begin with." Trademark smirk in place, he slowly backed away, his eyes never leaving hers. "We'll finish this later, then," he called over his shoulder as he turned away from her, striding off into the night.

* * *

Buffy let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and finished dressing. She felt dirty, and she desperately wanted to get home to her shower. She wouldn't even allow herself to contemplate the implications of Spike's new condition yet. Thoughts were spinning out of control in her head as it was. The last thing she needed on top of dealing with Elton was worrying about keeping Spike in line.

But she had learned at a young age how to kill a lover. And how to turn her feelings about the issue inside out until they seemingly no longer existed, just a dull ache residing on the surface. She would be kidding herself if she said that she hadn't imagined this exact scenario about a million times before. It was the main reason she had ended things to begin with. Kill it before it kills you. That was Slayer nature talking. And for the most part, the instinct that had been deep-rooted since birth was rarely wrong. But it was already too late. Hell, it had been too late a month ago.

She glanced sideways at the house as she stood upon the threshold, and suddenly she was reminded of that day she had left the mansion, when she had left Angel deader than the stone that made up Acathla. Something had died tonight, and it may not have been in the physical form, but it was almost palpable. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned her back on the empty house as she made her way home.

_Not thinking. Not thinking was of the good._ She carefully avoided examining that statement any further, as that would kind of seize what little control she still felt she had. _Ok, think. Think about a hot shower. Think about finding out more about Elton. Think about Dawn. Think about …_

_Think about beating that asshole within an inch of his unlife, and then sending him straight to hell courtesy of Mr. Pointy. _

A small part of her told her to hold onto the anger. That would help in the long run. But then she was forced to consider her new enemy. All of her attention should be focused on the bigger problem. _New thought. Find quicker way to kill Elton so I can skip right to the one I really want to kill._

Her steps slowed as she reached the walkway to her house, her eyes taking in the open door and the bluish glow emanating from within the house. _Not again._ And then she was running inside, running so fast she almost ran right through it. A pulsating blue message to the Slayer. It floated about three feet off the ground, reading like a stock ticker. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled of black magic.

"_Slayer, I have your friends. Not too smart leaving them all by their lonesome. Must say, I kind of expected more from you. No harm will come to them as long as you do as I say. I will contact you on Friday."_

Upon reading it, the message blinked two, then three times, before mushrooming much like an atom bomb. She shielded her eyes as the light exploded around her, like tiny shards of glass. Then the room was covered in darkness. She flipped the light switch on to take a look at the house. The floor was still littered with bottles, although now, some were broken. Other than that, it didn't look much different than when she had left before. She climbed the stairs, checking all of the bedrooms for … something that could lead her to who had taken her friends. And then she remembered … "Dawn!" she called, running to her sister's room. The door was ajar, but no one was inside and the bed was neatly made. Part of her was glad that there was no trace as opposed to … well, she wouldn't think about that now.

She went back downstairs and picked up the phone. Who? Who wasn't there that night? She quickly dialed Tara's number, silently praying that she would answer. It rang four times before the answering machine picked up. Cursing, she slammed the phone down into the cradle, and ran her fingers through her short locks. Action girl reared her ugly head, telling her to do something. But rational girl, making one of her rare appearances, calmly stated that she knew nothing, there was nowhere she could go, she needed to wait. She trudged over to the sofa and plopped herself down. _Just wait. Just wait. Don't think._ And then everything she had went through that night came back in vivid detail, and she found herself fighting back tears. Not now. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and waited.

* * *

Giles opened his eyes and immediately regretted it when the blinding pain set in. He instinctively went to put his hand on his head when he realized that something was stopping him. His hands were bound behind him, anchored by some sort of metal beam. He tried to stand up, but his legs felt strange, like jelly. He supposed that was the effects of the alcohol.

"Finally, you're awake."

Giles turned to see Xander, tied up the same way as he, a nervous smile spreading across his face. He groaned. "Just how long have I been out?" he asked wearily.

Xander shrugged. "I dunno. Like an hour? You kind of passed out before all the fun."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, when your _friends_, the pussy midgets-"

"Pyew-see, for God's sake, why must the lot of you constantly butcher the English language?"

"The English language? Last I checked, those things were demons. Now if I mispronounced antidisestablishmenterrorism-"

"-Arianism."

"Huh? Oh, whatever. If I mispronounced that-"

"You _did_ mispronounce it. Xander, now much as I enjoy your humorous, albeit ineffectual, attempt at making light of the situation, you really must stop. I need to know what happened."

Xander smirked. "Ha! Mr. Smartypants not so smart now. It's all in the tolerance level, my friend."

"Xander."

The man in question sighed heavily. "Fine, fine. After Buffy left, the Puisie guys kind of got a little rowdy. Well, not so much rowdy as forcibly kidnapping us. It would appear, and I might be mistaken, given my puny little brain and all, that, and how can I say this nicely … you've been duped! They were working with Elton the whole time."

Giles shook his head. "Why would the Puisie want to align themselves with Elton? They aren't normally drawn to violence, and Elton is one of the most lethal demons I've come across."

"Why don't you ask them?" Xander pointed across the room to where a group of the Puisie midgets were gathering. It was at that point that Giles realized where they were.

"Why would he bring us here?" he asked.

Xander shrugged. "Our own form of special torture? Except he screwed up. There aren't any books."

Giles rolled his eyes. "Yes, but there was no indication Elton had any interest in the Hellmouth."

"Maybe he doesn't have any interest in it."

"What's that now?"

"Maybe it's just somewhere he can be sure that Buffy would look."

Giles sighed. "Well, that makes sense, I suppose." He paused. "Have you seen him?"

"What, the big guy?" He shook his head. "Not yet. But when they brought us here, they said he would be around eventually."

Giles glanced around quickly. "Where is Anya?"

Xander's eyes darkened and he looked down at the floor. "They took her, I don't know where." He gritted his teeth. "God help me, if one of those bastards so much as looks at her-"

"You mustn't think like that. Most likely, they just want to separate her from us."

Xander nodded curtly. "I hope you're right."

The Puisie midgets began to chatter among themselves, and Giles felt the air around him shift. Something was coming. He took a deep breath, noting the heaviness in his lungs as he did so, and tried to control his pulse, which was now bordering on racing. The smell of burnt hair assailed his senses, and he wrinkled his nose. Glancing at Xander, he took in the boy's slack jaw and widening eyes. He followed his gaze and noticed the figure, seemingly born from the dark smoke it was surrounded in. Dark formidable eyes stared at him through the smoke, and Giles felt the stirrings of real fear taking hold of him. The figure stood as still as a statue for a few moments, an occasional blinking of his eyes the only indication that he was alive.

"Giles-"

"Shut-up, Xander," Giles ordered quietly.

The figure stepped out of the smoke and casually approached them, his eyes never leaving Giles. His lips twisted into a sneer, eliciting a nervous cough from Xander. Giles glared at Xander before turning back to the figure. He jumped when he found the man to be standing directly in front of him, bent over so they were at eye-level.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" The man chuckled. "I'm Elton, by the way. I'm always doing that, forgetting my manners." He stood up abruptly and slowly walked around. "You know, always say please and thank you, never stare at people." He turned back to Giles. "Never mess with someone else's plan to take over the world."

Giles inadvertently cringed.

"Oh, don't worry," Elton said dismissively. "It's not like the likes of you could even come close to stopping me."

Giles opened his mouth to say something, but Elton held up his hand signaling for silence. "I wasn't finished yet. Geez, and you Brits are supposed to be so well-mannered. Personally, I don't see it. The other one's even worse."

"Other one?" Xander asked.

"Oh, yes. I was meaning to get to that. I was hoping he'd be here by now, but I guess the reunion will have to wait. I'm sure you're familiar with my new associate. Goes by the name of Spike."

Giles closed his eyes and turned his head, silently chastising himself for not having guessed before. "Of course," he said through clenched teeth. "Now I'm beginning to understand the sudden interest in Buffy. Spike directed you right to her."

"You see?" Xander cut in. "I was the one that always said that guy was-"

"Xander, will you please save the I-told-you-sos for some time when we're not being held captive by a deranged psychopath?"

"Sorry."

Elton laughed. "Stupid humans. When are you going to grasp the concept? Demons are demons. Some of us might be harmless, possessing no natural weapons or self-defense capabilities, and some of us may have functional work-related relationships with humans, but the truth of the matter is – we all hate you. We may be forced to deal with you in order to survive, but that doesn't change the fact that, given the chance, every single one of us would kill you cold in a heartbeat. And you can't sugar-coat circumstance when that's all it is – a circumstance. And, by the by, no amount of time spent," Elton paused and stared pointedly at Giles, "screwing a vampire's brains out will change his nature to kill."

Giles narrowed his eyes. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

Elton merely smiled at him, and Giles turned to look at Xander, whose eyes were as big as watermelons. "No," Xander said. "There's no way. She would never …" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"What?" Giles asked, staring at Xander. "Who would never?"

Xander licked his lips and refused to meet Giles' eyes. "I didn't know, I mean, I thought it was weird she was hanging out with him so much, but I didn't … oh, God. I think I'm gonna be sick."

Elton stood back and watched amusedly as Giles struggled to put two and two together. "Are you surprised, Mr. Giles? That your pride and joy knocked down a building with my associate? That she spent months going to him for something that had nothing to do with patrolling?"

Giles drew in a deep breath and fixed steely eyes on Elton. "You're lying. Buffy would never … lower herself like that."

Elton shrugged. "Believe what you want. I actually saw it myself. Indirectly, of course. But is it really such a far stretch? I mean, the girl has been with another one before him."

Xander leaned his head back into the pole that stood behind him, wishing he could be somewhere else, anywhere really, as long as he didn't have to hear about the particulars of Buffy's sex life. He chanced a look at Giles, who, he could see, was not dealing well. The older man's expression was unreadable, but Xander knew from experience that he was just covering, unwilling to show weakness to the enemy. He imagined that Giles felt much the same way he did right then. Like everything he'd been sure of had been ripped out from under him like a rug.

A slow smile spread across Elton's face as he studied his two captives. The younger one was clearly upset, while the older one was pretending that he wasn't completely unnerved by his truth-telling. "So," he said, "it was nice meeting both of you. However, I must go. An appointment with some hot ex-vengeance demon." He winked at Xander.

Xander immediately snapped back into reality. "If you touch her, I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what?" Elton challenged.

Xander bit back the retort that almost escaped his lips and instead, glared hatefully at the demon standing before him.

"That's what I thought," Elton said smugly, walking away from them. "I'll see you guys later," he yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared around a corner.

* * *

Spike meandered aimlessly around the cemetery for awhile, unwilling to go back to Elton at the moment. He had to catch himself a few times, as he felt compelled to stake a couple of newly-risen vamps. Old habits die hard. He sighed heavily and leaned against a tree, fatigue hitting him full-on.

He wouldn't even allow himself to think of what he had done to Buffy. The look in her eyes … God, it had almost been too much. He was shaking by the time he had left her, angry at himself for forcing his own hand. If he just hadn't let her seen him in the first place … but subconsciously, he knew he had needed to see her. All he had been dreaming about since that night he had left her in the backyard was seeing her again.

He slowly leaned off of the tree and started walking. Once he neared town, he sensed something. His body became still, predatory senses on overdrive. A girl. Somewhere close. Coming towards him. He stepped into the shadows and waited.

The girl was young, about twenty, with long blond hair that curled at the ends. She immediately reminded him of Buffy, before the hair cut. She was clutching a cell phone in her hand, looking around nervously as she walked.

Spike didn't know if it was her resemblance to Buffy or the girl's vulnerable behavior that compelled him to step out of the shadows and reveal himself to her. Probably both, he figured. She jumped backwards as he approached, and started placing her thumb on the keypad of her phone.

"Stand back," she said nervously. "I'll call the police."

Spike smiled leisurely and continued to approach her. "Relax, pet. I won't hurt you. Now, what's a pretty girl like yourself doing walking around the streets of Sunnydale at this hour?"

The girl eyed him wearily, taking in his calm demeanor and sympathetic eyes. She relaxed slightly. "My car broke down and I don't have Triple A. My father's going to kill me."

Spike closed the distance between them and smiled. "Oh, don't worry about your father, pet. I'll help you out."

She smiled, relieved, until she caught sight of his face, which had morphed into vampire visage. Screaming, she turned around and started running.

Spike laughed and started to take chase. "This never works, love," he called after her. "I always find you. You might as well save yourself the trouble and just turn around now." Truthfully, though, Spike had always loved a good chase. He followed her a few blocks at half-speed, allowing her to believe she was getting away. He could hear the buttons of her phone being pressed, so he waited a few more minutes before catching up to her, twirling her around in one swift motion so they were face to face. The phone clattered to the ground uselessly.

"Please," she begged, her eyes wide with fear. "Don't hurt me."

Her heartbeat echoed in his ears, and he leaned close to her. "You won't feel a thing," he whispered before his fangs sank into her throat. She cried out and struggled against his grip. Crimson liquid flowed through his lips, and he relished the taste of human blood for the first time in almost three years. It felt like coming home.

He heard her heartbeat slow, as her struggles became less and less forceful. Eventually, she lay limp in his arms. He retracted his fangs and dropped her to the ground staring at the lifeless body before him with detached eyes, wondering at how easy it had been, even after all this time.

Then he turned and calmly walked away.


	11. Wrong

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 11: Wrong**

Sleep was not an option for Buffy. Her entire body ached, desperately seeking that gratifying release, but she fought against it, staring straight in front of her, even as the first rays of the morning sun beamed through the Summers' living room windows. She stared at the shadows they created, watched as they shifted position as the sun rose higher in the sky.

She almost jumped out of her skin when the front door flew open, revealing a frustrated Dawn struggling to carry an obviously over-packed duffle bag. She stared at Dawn for a moment, eyes not seeming to comprehend, until the wiry teen rolled her eyes and bellowed, "Hello? Earth to Buffy. A little help here?"

Buffy jumped up and, to the complete surprise of Dawn, threw her arms around her. Dawn yelped in pain as Buffy squeezed too tightly, trying to push her sister away from her. Buffy stepped back, putting a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break your lungs or anything. It's just, I thought they had taken you too."

Dawn furrowed her brow. "Who had taken me?" She quickly surveyed the mess in the living room. "And what happened here? Geez, one night at Janice's and apparently, we own a new house – a much dirtier one."

Buffy sighed. "Remember that guy I told you guys about in my dream?" Dawn nodded. "Well, it seems he kidnapped Giles, Xander, and Anya. Possibly Willow and Tara, too. I tried calling over there earlier, and no one picked up. Anyway, that guy left this big message thingy in our living room saying something about Friday."

"What's on Friday?" Willow popped her head through the open doorway, munching on a granola bar.

"Oh my God, Willow, you're ok!" Buffy proceeded to throw her arms around Willow as well, but after a few moments, she remembered the fight they had gotten into, and awkwardly broke away. Willow raised an eyebrow at her, and she did her best to avoid eye contact. "Sorry, Will. Just relieved, is all." She proceeded to tell her what she had just relayed to Dawn.

"Well, you don't have to worry about Tara," Willow said. "I was with her last night."

Buffy smiled in spite of herself. "That's great, Will. I knew it was only a matter of time."

Willow smiled back a little uncertainly. "Thanks."

"Ok, ok, I know you said that they got kidnapped, but how the hell do five billion bottles of alcohol factor in to that equation?" Dawn started weaving her way through the living room, picking up bottles as she walked, eying the labels with a degree of disgust.

"Long story. Let's just sit down and figure out what to do next."

* * *

An hour later, Dawn was sent to the Magic Box to retrieve a few of Anya's books in order to research the spell origin of the message left in the house. Willow believed she could trace Elton, given the proper information. All that was needed was Tara, as the tracing process required a small amount of magic.

Willow placed the phone on its receiver, taking a moment to collect herself. She was only human, after all, and speaking with her lover, no matter what the circumstances, after the night they had had … well, it was enough to bring the blood rushing to her cheeks. She turned to Buffy, the slight smile she wore quickly dying as she caught sight of Buffy's perplexed look.

"What is it?" she asked, hesitantly putting a hand on Buffy's shoulder.

Buffy looked at Willow's hand as if it were some alien concept, not quite comprehending its relevance. Willow caught her look and quickly dropped her hand, shoving it deep in her pocket. Eyes cast down to the floor, unable to face the hurt she knew she would see in Buffy's eyes.

She had been sorry the instant she'd said it, but even now she couldn't bring herself to say so. The anger she had felt, that she still felt, knowing Buffy didn't trust her enough to confide in her, left a gaping hole where her contrition should have been. And that seemed wrong, so wrong. She was Willow, after all. She forgave practically everything. She saw the best in people when they, themselves, didn't. And what she had said had been so terrible … she wondered what had possessed her to say it. And this was all over Anya knowing something she didn't? No, it couldn't be. This went beyond that. It spoke of a friendship that had been severed in death and never properly restored. She had felt the distance between them, but had been too preoccupied to remedy it, constantly telling herself that Buffy was the one who was different, and eventually, she would come around.

"Will? You alive in there?"

Buffy's words shook her out of her thoughts, and she managed a weak smile. "Sorry, just thinking about … things. What were you saying?"

Buffy tilted her head to the side. "I was just asking if Tara was on her way."

"Oh. Yeah, she said she was going to meet Dawn at the Magic Box and help her find the right books, but yeah, she's leaving now."

Buffy nodded once and turned away, her eyes drawn to the window. She'd been doing that a lot lately – looking out the window, at people going on with their normal lives with their normal children and their normal friends. She felt a twinge of resentment at not having been granted that normalcy. God, if she could be one of those people, just for one day …

"Buffy, what's wrong?"

Buffy could come up with whole list, if need be. She was well aware of the many mistakes she'd been making since she'd come back, last night being proof of perhaps the most fundamental thing wrong with her. But she just smiled and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know. You sent Dawn to the Magic Box when you know I could just have easily gone. I feel like you want to tell me something but you're not … doing the telling."

And she did want to tell her. Every fiber of her being wanted to tell her. Not just what she needed to tell her for the mission's sake, but everything. But after what had happened between them … well, that was going to take some work. Still, she needed to tell her what she had done, what she should have told them all before. "I screwed up," she stated simply, still not turning around.

"How's that?"

Buffy sighed deeply. "That dream I had, about Elton and Jonathan … a-and Spike. I left something out. I didn't know what it meant at the time, but I do now." She turned her hazel eyes to Willow, and the red head could immediately see the pain. What had happened to put so much pain in those eyes?

"What did you leave out?"

"Spike. Well, I mean, something he said. He told me not to let him fool me."

"Who fool you? Spike himself?"

"Yeah. And, I swear to you, I never would have left it out if I knew what it meant. I didn't think it meant anything. But, last night … well, he's back."

"Back, as in Sunnydale?"

She nodded. "Yep. And … he's different. Well, the same, really. As he was five years ago."

Willow furrowed her brow. "Like all … 'grrr!'?"

"Yeah. Back to his old ways, complete with no chip." She wrinkled her nose. "That didn't sound very grammatically correct."

Surprise slapped Willow clear across the face. "No chip? How did this happen?"

"He wasn't really talkative about it. Well, except that he seemed to want me to know about it. And … Willow, what's wrong."

The color had drained completely from Willow's face, and her eyes rolled heavenward. "Oh, God."

"What is it?"

"It's just … this morning, there was a report on the radio. You know, the usual. Girl with severe neck trauma, found on Main Street. I figured it was just a fledgling or something. But then, there was something else."

"What?"

"The girl was drained practically dry, and sure, it took four doctors, but she's alive. And suddenly, fledgling didn't seem likely because didn't you tell me once-"

"-Fledglings don't stop," Buffy finished for her, comprehension dawning. "The need to feed is so over-powering that they couldn't stop feeding, even if they wanted to, until the blood runs out." She smiled wryly. "It's like some sort of vampire birth control, I think. If you're too young and stupid, you can't make any vamps. Wish humans had something like that."

"Well, the only reason the girl made it was because she managed to call 911 while she was being attacked. They traced her call, and the ambulance found her pretty quickly."

Buffy furrowed her brow. Something wasn't making sense. She shook her head resolutely. "No. It couldn't be Spike then. We've all seen him kill. He wouldn't have been sloppy enough to let her make a phone call for help and not finish the job."

Willow shrugged. "Maybe he's just out of practice?"

"I don't think killing people is something you forget how to do." She paced around the living room, suddenly restless. "He must have wanted her to make the call. But why would Spike do that?"

* * *

He stepped into the remains of the old High School wearily, feeling slightly ill. The borrowed blood that flowed through his veins felt unnaturally hostile, bubbling almost painfully through him, a constant reminder of what he had done. Elton would have been suspicious if he hadn't fed. And sure, he hadn't drained her completely, and he had hung around in the shadows long enough to make sure the ambulance had come … but he couldn't be sure she would make it. And it bothered him. More so, it bothered him that it bothered him. That girl had just been some anonymous someone, no one he knew or cared about. But suddenly, he found himself wondering what her family would do if she died, wondering if she had a sister, wondering if …

_No. Stop that. It's in your nature, you buggering idiot. So what if she dies?_

Spike sighed. He did care if she died. And it wasn't because of what Buffy would think. Hell, he didn't have a chance in hell of ever making things right with Buffy again, not after last night. No, somehow, and he didn't know quite when, he had developed a respect for human life.

Go figure.

When he stumbled across the Watcher and Xander tied up in one of the old hallways, he stood for a moment, blinking dumbly. But when he caught sight of their steely gazes, he realized that Elton had probably already told them about him, and it was time to follow through. He grinned widely. "Well, hello Rupert. Xander." He nodded to each of them. "Enjoying your stay here? Must say, I wasn't expecting to see you quite yet. Elton must have had an epiphany or some such rot."

Xander ground his teeth together. "You bastard."

"Ouch. Now that hurt! Give a bloke a chance to explain himself."

"Nothing you say has any credibility, Spike. Don't even bother. We know, God, we all knew, what you were. It was only a matter of time before your obsession with Buffy ended." Xander shook his head angrily.

Spike tilted his head to one side as if considering Xander's words. "True. I am what I am. But my obsession with Buffy? Far from over." He curled his lips upwards. "Just seen her, actually. It's almost … sad, the way she opens her legs for almost anyone these days. I mean, you'd figure as the Slayer, she would at least stay away from vamps."

He was a little surprised at their reactions to his blatant insinuation. Sure, there was the disgust and disdain, but where was the righteous indignation? Where was the insistence that he was lying? Because they couldn't just _believe_ something like that, no questions asked, could they? Then he realized that Elton most likely would have told them, being the right bastard that he was. Anything for entertainment.

"Damn," he said after a turn. "I was hoping I would be the one to break the joyous news to you. I can see by your complete lack of anything resembling shock that he already told you. How did you take it? I mean, were there tears?"

"You sick son of a bitch!" Xander lunged at Spike, the rope biting painfully into his wrists as he strained against it. Spike watched amusedly as the boy settled back against the pole in defeat.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't want to get rope-burn there. Might put a crimp in your plans to be the most useless Scooby ever." He turned his gaze over to Giles, who still had yet to say something. Giles refused to meet his eyes, his own trained on the ground in front of him.

"What's the matter, Rupert? Disappointed in your Chosen One?"

Giles lifted his head and stared at Spike squarely, his expression one of utter contempt. "I will never be disappointed in Buffy," he said slowly, voice low. "She would never have …" He swallowed, struggling to regain composure. When he continued, his voice was even. "You deceived her, Spike. You gained her trust and deceived her. If it wasn't for her, you'd be dead by now. Buffy has more compassion in her than most can achieve in several lifetimes. And I'll be damned if I sit here and give you the satisfaction of being disappointed in that part of her, that trusting and loving nature in her, that you took advantage of."

Spike stared at Giles, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits. How he loathed himself at that moment, even knowing what he knew. The means didn't seem to justify the end, knowing what he had done to Buffy, knowing what he would have to do still. But she would be alive. He focused on that one thought as he sneered at Giles. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm evil." It sounded lame, even to him. Almost rehearsed.

"Yeah," Xander scoffed. "You're _so_ evil. You can't even flick me right now, unless you want a whopper of a headache."

Spike smiled and obliged, flicking Xander across the forehead with a decided thwack. The boy blinked back at him, waiting for the tell-tale reaction – the clutching of the head and the scream of agony. There was none. "I guess Elton forgot to mention that part. He did me a little favor, gettin' rid of that God forsaken chip. That's why I'm helpin' him out. Aside from the novelty of killin' my third Slayer." He winked at Xander and turned away. "Now, I'm off to see Elton. Which way did he go?" His question was met with dual glares that reminded him of getting flicked off. "Right then. I guess I'll just go this way." And with that, he rounded the corner to his right and left the two men to their thoughts.

"I'm gonna kill that bastard as soon as we get out of here," Xander said. "I mean, can you believe him? The things he said about Buffy. And now this-"

"It's all my fault, I'm afraid," Giles cut in, sighing softly. And, for the first time, Xander saw the anguish in the older man's eyes.

"What's your fault?"

"If I hadn't left, if I had stayed with her, none of this would have happened. She never would have gone to him." He hung his head miserably. "I did this."

They hadn't spoken a word about it since Elton had broken the disturbing news. Xander had tried to say something, but Giles had quickly shaken his head, not able to talk about it at that moment. The knowledge of Buffy's actions were just too cutting, too disturbing to even contemplate having a conversation about it. At least, a rational conversation. But now, Xander realized that Giles had been blaming himself the whole time, sitting in quiet self-abhorrence, and he had been too wrapped up in his own feelings to take notice. He sighed softly. "There's no way you could know that, Giles. She was … different when she came back. Acting strangely. Even when you were here. I think … I think it was just something she had to work out on her own. Honestly, it might have already started before you even left."

The older man's head shot up. "And that's better? Am I to feel better that it may have been going on right under my nose? That I was too daft to notice that my Slayer was … copulating with her sworn enemy? What kind of a Watcher am I? What kind of a person am I?"

Xander was speechless, shaking his head like a nervous puppy. How was it possible that there were no words? The one thing he could rely on in times of need, and now they escaped him. Say something! Say something. "You're human, Giles. That's all we can claim to be."

Giles slowly shook his head, closing his eyes. "I was so wrong."

* * *

Anya sat in a small wooden chair that looked suspiciously like the chairs they had used during her brief attendance at Sunnydale High. Her wrists were chafed from trying to squeeze her hands through the coarse grain of the rope that bound her hands behind her, and her legs, also bound, had long-ago lost feeling. She was tired, achy, and more than a little pissed off. Not to mention thirsty. Her throat felt like she had swallowed a beach full of sand.

So, it was with relief that she greeted the small man who entered the room where she was being held. "Please," she begged. "Help me."

The man smiled pleasantly. "I don't think so."

She frowned at that, not expecting his reluctance. "What do you mean, you 'don't think so'? Innocent female, here. Tied to a chair. Doesn't that make you want to go all Zorro and save me?"

The man pursed his lips. "Again, I don't think so."

And suddenly, she knew. "You're Elton."

He nodded once, casually strolling around the room as if it was a nice day in the park. His eyes roamed over her, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks when his gaze lingered on her chest. "I was hoping you could help me, actually," he said finally.

Anya smirked at him. "I don't think so. You see, there's this tiny little issue with you being the bad guy and all. And although, there might have been a time when I would have been more inclined, I don't see it happening any time soon."

His calm demeanor unnerved her, as he nodded again, almost as if he expected her reluctance. "You've been tainted," he observed thoughtfully. "You have the memories, but you lack the taste for it."

"Taste for what?" Patience ceased to be a virtue with Anya.

"Mayhem," he said off-handedly. "Destruction." He stood in front of her, eyes fluttering back in his head before he closed the lids over them. She watched uncomfortably as he remained motionless, attuned to whatever he was doing so completely that even the need to breathe became obsolete. She gasped when his eyes finally flew open, dead and insensate.

"What the hell was that?" she asked shakily.

"Oh, I just read you. Everything about you can be seen in just a few short seconds. Your years as a vengeance demon to your … digression. Tell me, Anya, when was the last time you felt truly powerful?"

Anya didn't answer, knowing full well what he was after.

He smiled, reaching a finger out to her cheek. She turned away in disgust. He seemed undaunted, though, his smile broadening. "I can return the power, you know. Not in the same way, of course. You wouldn't be a vengeance demon, but you would be a warrior for the cause, powerful and…" He paused, searching for the right word. "Respected."

Anya raised her eyes to his. "And just why would you want to do that? What is so terrible about how I am now?"

"You're a human!" he sputtered.

"So?"

Elton shook his head. "Damn the humans. Damn the humans! Humans get entire organizations dedicated to ensuring the survival of their species. Humans are revered above all else in the netherworld, simply because they possess some stupid soul. Tell me, do you even know what a soul is? Do you even know what it does?"

Anya stared up at him calmly. "I know you sure as hell don't have one."

"You really are stubborn, aren't you? But you can't hide what you truly feel from me. I saw the look on your face every time that poor excuse for a boyfriend corrects you."

Anya licked her lips, pushing whatever amount of resentment she held for Xander as far down as she could, not wanting the monster in front of her to use it against her. "Why me?" she asked. "Why do you want me?"

"Well, aside from the obvious," Once again, his eyes raked over her body, "I've seen your true potential. You were amazing – lethal and unrelenting. Your power didn't just come from your amulet, it was something ingrained." He paused. "I could give it back. You could show that idiot boyfriend of yours just what it means to piss off someone of your volatile nature."

Anya considered his words, weighing the options. Sure, she had thought about becoming a demon again, especially after the foiled wedding attempt, when she had been desperate to push away anything resembling humanity. But Elton had come too late. She no longer wished to participate in the destruction of humanity, she had come far enough to see the good it had done.

She spit on him. For a moment, he just stood there, raising a finger to his cheek where the wetness had landed, not understanding what had just transpired. "How's that for volatile nature?" she sneered.

Spike arrived just in time to see Elton extend his hand over Anya's chest, a blue glow emanating from beneath his hand. Anya screamed in pain, her eyes rolling up into her head, and Spike forced himself to stand his ground. He could hear Anya's heartbeat, elevated, but strong. He was not trying to kill her.

After a few moments, Elton removed his hand from Anya's chest and stumbled backwards, sucking in deep breaths of air. Spike watched curiously, noting how weak Elton was at the moment. He wondered if he could take him right now, snuff him out before Buffy even had to meet him.

But then Elton's eyes were upon him. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked breathlessly.

Spike tried to play it casual. "Oh, you know. Out. Doing evil stuff."

Apparently, not casual enough. Elton's eyes were already closed, and Spike took a step back, knowing what he was seeing.

And then he was knocked into the wall, Elton's preternaturally strong body threatening to crush every bone in his body until he was nothing but dust.


	12. Villainy

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 12: Villainy**

"I must say, I'm surprised," Elton said as he mercilessly crushed Spike against the wall. Spike felt the strain of pressure on his ribs and braced his arms against Elton, pushing at him with as much force as he could muster. But Elton stood solid, as unyielding as a wall of iron, possessing strength that Spike hadn't seen since the good old days with Adam. He grimaced in pain as the first rib buckled under the pressure and snapped.

"You have quite a set of balls on you," Elton continued. "Coming back here, knowing I would see what you've done."

"It's not what you think," Spike said, growling as he felt another rib snap.

Elton raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? So you didn't just fuck the Slayer?" He punctuated the last with a punch to Spike's mid-section that doubled him over in pain.

"That I did," Spike rasped.

"You see my dilemma, then." Elton grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and tossed him aside with the ease of a child discarding a rag doll. Spike tumbled over a few times, curled up in a ball, until he stopped just a few feet from Anya. Her head lolled back and forth, eyes glazed over, trying to focus on the Spike-shaped figure crumpled on the ground before her. She blinked a few times, eyes wide pools of confusion. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she tilted her head questioningly. But then he tore his eyes away, scrambling to his feet as Elton once again advanced on him.

"Look, mate," Spike said, backing up, his hands set out straight before him in defense. Elton grinned bemusedly, stalking after him slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. "Yeah, I did her. I admit it. But you don't understand."

"Enlighten me." Elton lengthened his stride forcefully, his human guise sliding away to reveal a hideous demonic countenance, facial bones sharply pinched, coming to an apex at his cheeks. His complexion turned scabrous and ruddy, and from deeper-set sockets a pair of red glowing eyes challenged. "It'll give me something to laugh about when I kill you."

Spike swallowed and ineptly tripped over some debris, stumbling backwards a bit before regaining his balance. "It was just for old time's sake. Honest! Bloody marvelous lay, that one. Plus, there was the added bonus of messing with her head. Seemed to work really well for Angelus. Thought I might have a go at it." He licked his lips nervously. "Doesn't seem right, you trying to kill me for getting my rocks off." He knew he was grasping at straws now, but words evaded him. He was never that great of a liar to begin with, and now, with the prospect of imminent death looming over him, he was finding it extremely difficult to concentrate.

Elton narrowed his eyes and slowed in his pursuit. "Seems like a naked sleeping Slayer is about as defenseless as you can get. Why didn't you kill her?"

Spike frowned. "Well, that's not very fun, is it? The way I see it, bitch deserves a little more than a quick passing. 'Sides, it's great to see the look on her face when we torture her friends. Always gets her right pissed off."

Elton came to a stop, studying the bleached vampire carefully, every movement tracked by his discerning gaze. After what seemed like an eternity, Elton nodded once, and his face rippled back to human guise. Spike visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping with released tension, only to be thrown backwards as Elton crashed his fist through his jaw. He collided head-first into the wall, pain overwhelming and immobilizing, and he struggled to ascertain which way was up. Gravity eventually showed him the way, and he managed to find his footing and achingly rise to meet whatever Elton was ready to throw at him next.

To his surprise, Elton had not moved. He stared at Spike in a way that conveyed his displeasure, his jaw clicking aberrantly. "Let that be a warning, Vampire," he said after a time. "The only reason you live is because you are useful. As soon as you cease to be useful, you will just … cease to be. From now on, you abide by my rules. If you stray in any way, you die. Clear?"

Spike nodded resignedly as Elton turned on his heel and approached Anya, who was watching intently from her chair a few feet away, unnaturally silent. "And you," Elton said, pointing to her, "will be mine. Make no mistake about it. It's only a matter of time." He smiled brightly. "Be seeing you." He sauntered away casually, sparing a last disdainful glance at Spike before disappearing around the corner.

"Spike."

He turned to Anya slowly, affecting the mask of easy nonchalance that had been his trademark for so many years. She stared back at him, eyes boring into his, a silent plea for reason, reason for everything she had witnessed. And he saw the desperation brimming at the surface there, saw it and couldn't bring himself to match her gaze any longer. Nervously running his fingers through his tousled blond curls, he pivoted on one heel and started in the direction Elton had gone.

"Spike."

And now he could hear the defeat in her voice. He stopped, still not turning to face her. "What?" he said after a few moments, his tone cold and indifferent.

He heard her sigh and the chair creak as she settled her weight into it. "Why?"

He laughed dryly, felt it stick in his throat as he at last turned to her, expecting the heavy scrutiny of her gaze, but to his surprise, her eyes remained staring at the ground in front of her. _Good. Just makes everything easier._ "Come now. 'Why?' You, of all people should know why."

She nodded, a grim smile touching her lips. "I know. I just thought you were …"

"What? Changed?" His tone became suddenly angry. "You know, you Scoobies really are something else. You were the ones always telling me that I was just a thing, that I couldn't change. Even if I had wanted to change, how could I with the lot of you practically willing me not to?"

"I never said any of those things to you." And she looked up at him then, eyes just as cold as he imagined his were. No, no disillusions here. But he also saw the truth in her words and nodded in acquiescence. "Besides," she continued, "I was going to say I thought you were in love with Buffy."

He cocked his head to one side. "Maybe I was. Once." He set his jaw determinedly. "But that bitch's games got old real quick. Nowadays, the feelings I have for Buffy are more of the violent variety."

Anya shuffled in her seat once again, straining against her bonds. "I know about you and her. She told me." She paused to consider her words. "Well, not so much as told me as didn't really disagree with my astute observation." Her eyes twinkled for just a moment. "I got it before any of the others, you know."

"That's great. Congratulations. You must feel so special knowing that you figured it out before all of the other half-wits in your precious group of gumshoes." He rolled his eyes impatiently.

Anya glared at him. "Anyway," she went on," I just thought you should know."

"Know what?"

"That she missed you. When you left. And for Buffy to generate something even close to an emotion means something." She thought she saw that barest flicker of hope pass through his eyes, but almost as quickly as it had come, it was replaced with indifference. She sighed softly when he didn't respond. "You know, I always thought you and I were kind of the same," she said, her voice almost wistful. "Both of us were former 'Big Bads', to use your nounage. When I first became human, I was all hell-bent on getting my powers back. And then I fell in love with Xander." She smiled when he grimaced. "Yeah, I know. No love lost between you two, blah, blah, blah. But falling in love with Xander made me want to change, be good for him. And then one day I realized that it wasn't Xander I wanted to be good for anymore. I wanted it for myself."

"Is there a point to this charming little anecdote or are you just desperate to talk about the poster boy for birth control?"

"And then there was our wedding day. I was so upset and angry when he left. And, I didn't tell anyone this, but my old boss, D'Hoffran, offered me my powers back. And for five seconds, I was going to do it. I thought, screw humanity. Screw Xander." The glare she shot in his direction immediately made him reconsider the comment that had been on the tip of his tongue. "But then those five seconds ended, and I knew I could never go back. After everything I had experienced and learned, even with all of the hurt and anger, I knew that it wasn't worth it to throw all of that away. Because all those emotions and life experiences made me feel alive in a way that being a vengeance demon never did."

Spike looked down at the ground.

"And I know you feel the same way, Spike. I see it on your face. And don't pretend you don't love Buffy, either, because you're a terrible liar." She paused, searching his face for answers. "So, I'm going to ask you again, Spike. And I want you to tell me the truth. Why are you doing this?"

The sound of hyper conversation put a halt to any further conversation between them. Spike rolled his eyes when Elton rounded the corner with Warren and Andrew in tow. _Figures._

"No, no, no. Think bigger," Warren was saying, until his eyes fell upon Spike. He stopped speaking and stiffened. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Elton sighed exaggeratedly. "He's with us now."

"Oh no, he's not. We have cameras like, everywhere, man. And almost all of them at some point in time have witnessed the sexcapades between one Buffy Summers and your friend here."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Cameras, huh? Gotta say, wish I'd thought of that myself. You wouldn't happen to have any copies-"

"Shut up, Spike," Elton snapped. He turned back to Warren. "Trust me. He's reformed now. Now what were you saying about that bomb thing?"

Warren cast a distrustful look at Spike. "I'd really feel more comfortable if we talked about this in private."

Elton's eyes narrowed. "You'll tell me now, if you know what's good for you."

Spike smirked as Warren bowed his head to Elton. "Right, um. Okay. You see this?" Warren held up a tiny silver colored cube. "This _is_ a bomb, but not in the conventional sense. This doesn't cause any real destruction, per say. What it does is much better."

Elton stared at the cube doubtfully. "That thing doesn't look like it can win at a game of craps, let alone do anything useful."

Warren smiled. "Oh, this baby is useful, alright. Once activated, it sends out a pulse that can travel through to other dimensions. The feedback between the walls holding the dimensions together-"

"Don't tell me _how_, tell me _what_ the hell it does!" Elton snapped.

"In a nutshell? It brings down the walls of other dimensions and allows them entrance to this one by way of the Hellmouth."

"Oh, please," Spike scoffed. Elton, Warren and Andrew looked over at him in surprise. "Not this dimensional wall crap again. Last year, there was this Glory chit. She was trying to use this key to open up all the doors to the other dimensions. Only when she used the key, the dimensions started to bleed into each other. Now, I understand your need for world domination and all that rot, Elton. But how can you dominate the world if there is no world left?"

Warren glanced at him irately. "I don't know anything about this Glory, but what you're describing is completely different. Well, at least for us. Our dimensional wall will still be intact. The only entranceway will be through the Hellmouth. So that means we can limit the activity when we want."

"Tell him about the flute!" Andrew piped up nervously.

"Oh, yeah. Well, normally, Andrew can only summon a few demons at a time. But I enhanced one of his flutes so he could call up to five hundred demons at once. Meleznic demons. In other words, willing soldiers for your cause. While all of the demons from every hell dimension possible come through the Hellmouth and obliterate the people of this world, the Meleznic demons will ensure that you stay in power. Kinda like super bodyguards." Warren's expression at that moment looked suspiciously smug.

A slow smile crept up the side of Elton's face. "This is good. Plans will have to change accordingly, of course. But hey. This gets quicker results." He patted Warren roughly on the back. "Well done. Now, how do you use that little device of yours?"

"Simple, really. It's fingerprint encoded. For me. I just press my finger to one of the sides and it activates. But, like most magics, this cube will only work on the eve of the new moon. Any other time will just disable it. Permanently. So the new moon is rising … when?"

Elton's grin managed to stretch even wider. "Friday. Just when I was planning to introduce myself to the infamous Slayer." He turned to Spike, mock sympathy oozing out of him. "Oh, you don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Spike grinned wryly. "Not at all."

"Well, good, because I've decided to do something a little differently with the Slayer. I got to thinking. Slayers have super strength. Just like vampires. Now if a Slayer were turned . . ."

"That'd be like the strongest vampire ever," Andrew finished. He smiled. "Cool."

Spike furrowed his brow. He willed himself not to think too long on the ramifications of turning Buffy. It was something he was ashamed to admit that he had thought of from time to time, but never allowed himself to voice out loud. How simple it would have been, to take her when she lay sleeping next to him, defenses down and utterly helpless. She wouldn't even know what had hit her. And when she awoke, she would be subservient to him, her sire. Looking at him like he was the Second Bloody Coming. But in the end, Spike had always come to the conclusion that Buffy wouldn't be Buffy if she were turned. And as fascinated as he was at the prospect of finding out who Buffy would be, the more rational part of him knew that she was as close to perfect just the way she was. Well, not perfect, per say. Perfect for him. And there was no way in hell he was going to screw that up.

Still, he couldn't help but to be tempted.

"Aren't you worried about her being stronger than you? That she'd want to overthrow you or something?"

Elton waved off his concerns as if he were swatting at a fly. "She'll be strong, but she won't be that strong."

Spike looked at him doubtfully. "Right. Like being the product of a master vampire coupled with the fact that she's a slayer will somehow render her weak and insignificant."

Elton rolled his eyes. "She still won't be as strong as me. Besides, I'll have an army protecting me, remember? No, the only thing on her mind will be the thrill of the hunt and kill. Isn't that right?"

Spike nodded resignedly, remembering all too well the way the demon nature had drawn him in within moments of awakening, and for 120 subsequent years.

Elton tilted his head to the side. "This way, you don't have to be ashamed of your attraction to the girl. She will be yours in every sense of the word." He stared pointedly at Anya, who quickly looked away. "I'm beginning to understand the allure, you know. There's something so intoxicating about human women. So innocent." His smile hardened. "I'll enjoy taking that away."

He turned back to Warren. "Now, Warren. I'll be needing to speak to you privately."

Warren nodded, shooting Andrew a smug smile before following Elton out of the room. Andrew crossed his arms defiantly. "Not fair," he said, sounding ever-more like the petulant child. "I was the one with the idea for the flute. I should get credit for it to. He's probably convinced Elton to give him one of his own kingdoms by now."

A cry of complete agony resounded throughout the old High School, and Spike glanced at Andrew. "Somehow, I highly doubt that," he said, before breaking off into a run. Andrew followed suit, trying to keep up to the blond vampire. Suddenly, Spike came to a complete stop, and it was all Andrew could do to stop himself from careening right into him. He pushed Spike to the side so he could get a better vantage at whatever had stopped the vampire cold.

"Oh my God," he breathed.

Elton blinked up at them as if he were surprised. "Oh, you didn't really think I was going off to 'talk' to him, did you?" He wiped his bloodied hands on his pants and irreverently kicked Warren's bludgeoned body with the toe of his boot. "He served his purpose, now it's done." He stared at Andrew. "You still have yet to serve your purpose. And, if you're a good little boy, not so cocky like this one was, you might live to see another day after we open the Hellmouth."

Andrew gathered all of the courage he could muster and met Elton's eyes. "You … you … liar."

Elton laughed. "Is that the best you can do? Liar?"

Spike put his arm on Andrew's, pushing him back a few steps so as to approach Elton. "While I wasn't particularly fond of that nit you bludgeoned to death, I must point out that killing him was extremely stupid. That bomb-"

"Oh, you mean this bomb?" Elton opened his palm to reveal the small cube.

"Yes, that bomb," Spike said impatiently. "Didn't the geek here say that only his fingerprint could activate it?"

"Who's to say he needs to be alive to activate it?" Andrew watched in horror as Elton leaned over Warren's corpse and snapped one of his fingers clean off. _I'm not going to puke, I'm not going to puke, I'm not going to …_

Spike moved his feet away in disgust as Andrew proceeded to vomit the remains of whatever he had eaten dangerously close to his boots. Elton grinned up at them, holding the finger up like some sort of prize. "Finger's all I need."


	13. Thaumaturgy

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 13: Thaumaturgy**

* * *

_**Thaumaturgy**__ – n. The use of supernatural powers to influence or predict events._

* * *

"Ok … the one with the rainbow."

"That's easy. Cheer Bear. She's like the token Care Bear. Give me something harder."

"All right, all right. How about the one with the sun?"

"Come on! Sunshine Bear."

"Ha! Wrong! It's _Funshine_ Bear. Knew I could get you with that one." Willow smiled triumphantly as she waggishly kicked a group of pebbles that had the unfortunate luck of being in direct line of Willow's foot. She watched as they skittered out across the pavement, tumbling and spreading like tiny waves in an ocean of asphalt. "I could be really evil and start with the Care Bear Cousins."

Buffy grinned at that. "No, that's okay. I think I've suffered enough humiliation at this point. Besides, I was way into _Rainbow Brite_ by the time the cousins came to Care-a-lot."

Willow matched her grin. "I was a _My Little Pony_ girl myself. But, I guess you're right. It's probably not a good idea to mess with a Slayer's ego. Might make you the opposite of confident. Confidentless? Or is it underconfident?"

"See, now I know you're teasing. Because Willow? Using incorrect grammar and actually asking _me_ for the right word? So not believable." She followed Willow's lead and kicked an empty can out in front of her.

Buffy couldn't help but smile as she and Willow made their way down Main Street. This was good. For the first time in a long time, things felt normal between the two of them. Falling into easy banter, exchanging twin looks of amusement at the sweet but exceptionally stupid couple making out in the cemetery – it was all like old times. But more importantly, and perhaps the most apparent indication that things were going to be okay between them, was Willow's unflinching response to her unasked question. Back at the house, after Tara and Dawn had returned from the Magic Box, Buffy had quietly taken Willow aside and told her, "I need to know." And Willow didn't need to wonder at the statement. She simply nodded and said, "Let's go."

Willow regarded Buffy carefully. "You okay?"

Buffy snapped out of her thoughts and smiled shakily. "Fine. You know, just a little weirded out." She watched as Willow gazed at her through doleful eyes, saw her nod uneasily and heard the tiny sigh escape her lips. And suddenly Buffy knew that she couldn't do this any longer. Willow had taken the first step toward bridging their friendship and here she was, already trying to tear it down. What possessed her to keep this secret from Willow so long anyway? What was she afraid of? Anger? Disappointment? Hell, she'd been marinating in those sentiments all by herself for so long anyway. What difference would it make if Willow dished them out as well?

She nervously chewed on her lower lip. "Will?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanted to know. Before. About Spike?"

Willow hazarded a glance at Buffy and saw the set jaw, a Buffy version of ResolveFace. "Yeah?"

Buffy sighed. "Yeah." She stopped walking, crossing her arms around her chest as she shuffled her feet nervously. Looking anywhere but where she ought to, desperate to be a spectator in a life where she was the main attraction. She cleared her throat and tried a few times to bring her eyes to Willow's until she finally succeeded, meeting the witch's questioning look with only a slight waver. "Spike and I kinda had a thing."

And she was really proud of herself now, having said what had seemed the most difficult thing in the world. Harder than French tests and saving the world combined. Multiplied, even. And now it was finally over, the trepidation and uneasiness completely gone.

Until-

"What kind of thing?"

Willow watched as Buffy's expression turned from relieved to petrified in the span of three seconds. A smile broke out despite all her efforts when Buffy began to stutter out what Willow imagined would be the Stereo Instructions Guide to Sex. She lightly tugged on Buffy's sleeve, nearly succumbing to uncontrollable fits of giggles at the look of shameful misery imparted to her from one extremely embarrassed Slayer. "It's okay, Buffy," she chuckled. "I think I can figure out what kind of 'thing' you meant."

Buffy took in her friend's teasing smile and, if possible, reddened even further. "Oh." She laughed dryly. "I just thought, with you being a … you know … a-"

"Lesbian?"

"Uh … yeah. I just thought you wanted me to … uh … go into specifics or something." She pursed her lips. "I can see now how completely stupid I really am."

Willow laughed. "Not stupid. Just nervous. It's okay, you know. Except when I asked what kind of thing, I meant like, was it a love kinda thing. It's kind of obvious you two were making with the horizontalness."

Buffy furrowed her brow. "You knew?"

Willow shook her head. "Not for sure or anything. To be honest, I thought the reason Spike left was because he _wasn't_ getting … you know. But you're not exactly good at hiding things, Buffy. And even though I didn't know specifics, I've known for a long time something of the physical naughtiness has been going on." She tucked a loose strand of red hair behind one ear and started walking again. "What I don't know," she said when Buffy had fallen into step beside her, "is if it was just a physical kinda thing or a something more kinda-"

"No," Buffy said crisply, her lips drawn into a thin line. "Definitely in no danger of that." She sighed wearily. "There was a time when I thought his feelings were real, that he really could love without a soul, but now …" she trailed off.

They walked in silence for a few more moments. "Now what?" Willow asked softly.

Buffy shrugged half-heartedly. "Now I just know better." She smiled wanly, and Willow recognized the phony brave face that Buffy always used when trying to cover for her true feelings_. Oh, so it was_ that _kind of thing_ …

"So, I take it there were feelings involved then?"

Buffy looked mildly alarmed. "No, no feelings," her voice hitched. Willow raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay," Buffy acquiesced. "There were feelings. Not Angel-like feelings, or even Riley-like. They were different. Mostly, I just felt …" she trailed off and hung her head. "I dunno."

"Oh, I don't think so, young lady." Willow grabbed her friend's arm and forced her to look her in the eye. "You felt how?"

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "In the beginning, I just felt comfortable, you know? Like when you come back from the Bronze and get to change out of the super-cool yet binding club clothes into the super-ugly yet comfy sweats? It's not that you don't like the club clothes, you just need a break from them every now and then. And the sweats, although wildly inappropriate on a daily level, have their good points. If you look past the looks, they have a lot of good points, actually."

"Wow. I don't think I've ever heard that analogy before."

"Just call me the Tiger Woods of word play."

"Well then, Tiger, tell me one thing: did you really have a problem with the looks department? Because I kind of doubt that."

Buffy felt her cheeks flush. "I didn't mean the actual looks, because … well, he's kind of a hottie. I only meant the whole evil thing." Her smile was vaguely reminiscent of the ones she had worn all throughout Junior High when the subject of boys ruled conversation. "Anyway," she went on, trying to curb her embarrassment, "I didn't want to deal with stuff and he wasn't asking me to, so it just felt … nice." She smiled wistfully, her eyes taking on that clouded quality that Willow had always associated with Angel in years prior. But Buffy quickly shook herself out of it, her smile turning from wistful to wry. "And then he had to go and screw it up by kissing me."

Willow blinked. "What?"

"Okay, so maybe, technically, I kissed him. But that doesn't mean he shouldn't have stopped it. I mean, I was really vulnerable then, and he like, didn't even care. All he cared about was getting what he wanted." Buffy sighed heavily and avoided Willow's gaze. "Okay," she said, her voice feather-soft as she nervously twisted a lock of dirty blond hair between two fingers. "To be fair, I guess my agenda was kinda the same as his. I was just more honest about it. He tried to cover it up with that whole 'love' crap."

Willow made a face.

"What?" Buffy prodded.

Willow eyed her friend thoughtfully. "Okay, _so_ not a fan of Spike's. Remember the broken bottle in face incident. And, of course, who could forget the wanting to turn me into a vampire thing? That being said, and don't get mad at me here, I honestly think that Spike's feelings, at least at one point, were real. I mean, he helped us last summer when you were gone. He had no idea what we were planning to do."

Buffy shook her head sadly. "Don't you see, Will? It doesn't matter anymore. None of that means anything. He's made his choice, and I have to deal with it."

Willow tilted her head to one side. "If none of it matters, why are we here then?" She gestured to the towering building that they were now standing in front of.

Buffy stared at the big red 'Hospital' sign in front of her for a moment before slowly walking towards the entrance. "Because I need to know what the hell he's thinking," she replied quietly.

Willow sighed softly before following her friend inside the hospital.

* * *

"Are you absolutely certain?"

The frail-looking blond girl adjusted her head back onto the pillow, gazing at the small but menacing girl before her through bloodshot eyes. "Of course I'm sure!" she snapped. She pointed to the bandage covering her neck. "You think I wouldn't know what the person who got close enough to me to do this looks like?" She scowled at Buffy. "Who did you say you were working for anyway?"

Buffy stiffened. "Uh … F.B.I. Special branch. You wouldn't have heard of it."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Got a badge?"

Buffy smiled plastically. "No," she said with exaggerated patience. "That's part of being undercover. Listen, we don't really have a lot of time if we want to catch this guy that did this to you. Now, did he have any specific features?"

The girl frowned. "Well, before his face changed, he had this weird scar through his eyebrow. By the way, what kind of drugs make peoples' faces change like that?"

"Uh … that's classified." Buffy ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm just trying to figure this out. You said he was talking to you before he … changed."

"Yeah. I thought he was going to help me out or something. But then he showed himself, and he was all …" she broke off sobbing. Buffy awkwardly started patting the girl's arm. "I thought I was going to die," the girl whispered when her sobs had quieted. "I made it four blocks and then he grabbed me."

Buffy furrowed her brow. "You made it four blocks? And you started out in the same place?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I guess I was faster. For awhile at least."

Buffy shook her head confused. "That's weird," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Oh … uh, nothing." She cleared her throat. "So, after that he …"

"Bit me," the girl supplied, shaking her head. "Those must be some crazy drugs to make someone want to bite people."

Buffy drew her lips taut. "Yeah, you can say that. Listen, thanks for all your help. Hopefully, we can catch this guy before he does this again." She stood up slowly, sympathetic smile in place. "Um, feel better soon." She winced inwardly, hoping her words didn't sound as insincere to the girl as they did to her. She had never really been any good at comforting strangers, and she was afraid her inexperience would sound like apathy. Fortunately, the girl seemed oblivious, flashing her a weak smile and a muttered "thanks" before closing her eyes and turning her head away.

Buffy made her way down the hospital corridor, her pace quickening once she caught sight of the red-head slumped in one of the waiting room chairs. "Why didn't you stay with me?" Buffy questioned her as she approached speaking distance. "One second you were in the room with me and the next I'm trying to explain to that girl about my partner's unpredictable yet amusing bladder condition." A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Willow stood slowly, glancing down the hallway that Buffy had just come from. "How is she?" she asked.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "She's going to be fine. Now, what's the what, Willow? Why did you leave?"

Willow sighed and dropped her eyes to the floor. "Oh, you know. I just thought that one of us should be watching the door, what with the whole illegal visitation thing. I didn't want you to get caught or anything."

"You see? That's all you needed to say. I would have totally believed you. Except for the fact that you were neither near the door to warn me nor actually watching it."

Willow smiled shyly. "Oh, you caught that, huh?"

Buffy shook her head and smiled. "Look, it's no big. I got what I came here for." Her smile faded as her eyes became distant. "Even if it's a little more confusing than I originally thought. But, yeah, it was definitely him. Spike. That bit that girl."

Willow shuffled her feet. "I knew that the minute we walked in there," she mumbled.

"What?" Buffy wrinkled her brow. "How?"

Willow shifted uneasily, chewing on her lower lip. She glanced around nervously, only vaguely aware of the surroundings she seemed so interested in. Buffy finally placed a hand on her friend's shoulder, putting a stop to Willow's frantic eye-dancing. "Willow?"

The red head slowly brought here eyes to Buffy's, and Buffy took a step backwards when she saw the despondence her eyes harbored. "Didn't you see?" Willow asked quietly. "Didn't you notice?"

"Notice what?"

But Buffy didn't really need to ask. She _had_ noticed, on some subconscious level. She closed her eyes as Willow's words reached her.

"That girl," Willow began. She sighed heavily, unable to find the words that were tumbling about so abundantly in her mind. "It's just, she looked like … well, she very strongly resembled … no. She looked _exactly_ like …"

Buffy lifted her chin ever so slightly, her normally luminous eyes lackluster. "It's okay, Willow. I know. She looks like me."

* * *

Dawn tossed her long chestnut brown hair over one shoulder as she nervously eyed the front door. Nope. Still not opening. What was that again about a watched kettle? She sighed heavily, leaning back into the couch as she turned her gaze to Tara.

Tara was the picture of tranquility, sipping at her mocha chino as she slowly leafed through one of the magic books. A notebook and pen sat next to the book, and occasionally Tara would place the mocha chino very carefully onto the coaster (so unlike Buffy, who thought coasters were Frisbees for small children) and neatly write a few notes onto the clean white paper. Dawn shifted again, craning her neck so she could see the front door.

"They'll be that much longer if you keep doing that," Tara said, not raising her eyes from the book.

If it had been anyone else, Dawn's turbulent teenage mind would have immediately translated that as condescension, but Tara's soft voice and teasing smile managed to squelch her inner need for conflict. "I know," she replied. "It's just, you've got this whole location spell thing to research, and Buffy and Willow have this weird hospital trip, and I … well, I guess my job is to stare at the door. It's not really an important job or anything, but I do it really well."

"Dawnie, it's okay if you want to watch tv or something. Really."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure. Big apocalypse? Watch tv while everybody else gets to help avert it. That's real brave." She lowered her eyes to the floor. "Besides," she added quietly. "I can't really concentrate on anything right now, because of … you know."

Tara looked up from the book and slowly closed the cover. "Dawnie, listen to me. What happened with Spike was something that was bound to happen sooner or later. I know you cared about him, and I'm sorry that you're hurting, but sometimes when things like this happen, they're for the best."

Dawn made a face. "Yeah. Everything's for the best. God, I'm so sick of hearing that." She took deep breath and let it out slowly. "He was my friend, Tara. He took care of me. And, yeah, he hasn't really been around much since Buffy came back, but I always knew …" She stopped and smiled wanly. "I always _thought_ he still cared."

Tara nodded slowly. "Dawnie, I know he cared. He wouldn't have been here if he didn't. It's just … well, Spike's always been such an anomaly. He was probably just as confused as we are now. But, vampires have a certain nature. And Spike used to be really good at that part. Now that he doesn't have the chip, there's nothing stopping him."

Dawn raised her chin. "There's Buffy. He loves Buffy, I know it."

Tara's eyes clouded over briefly. "Sometimes love isn't enough." She smiled shakily. "Especially unrequited."

The front door suddenly burst open with force that could only be attributed to Slayer-strength. Dawn rolled her eyes as Buffy and Willow entered hastily. "You know, the door has something called a door knob. For to open."

Buffy narrowed her eyes and briefly wondered if Dawn's attitude was the product of teenage hormones or if that mystical key aspect finally kicked in, proving to be more evil than originally thought. She smiled sugar sweetly. "Oh, the door knob? You mean the one you broke when coming back from the Magic Box?"

Dawn reddened. "Oh."

Triumphant sisterly smirk in place, Buffy plopped down on the couch next to Dawn. Willow hesitantly stood in the foyer, until Tara looked up at her and smiled. The green light. She made her way across the living room and sat at Tara's feet, leaning back against her. Buffy watched as Tara absently played with a few strands of Willow's hair, and she couldn't help but be happy for them. After everything, someone needed to be happy. Xander and Anya were just finding their way back to each other, but now … Buffy's eyes darkened as she remembered the task at hand. "Tara, are we almost ready to do the spell?"

Tara looked up at Buffy somewhat guiltily and nodded. "Yeah, I think so." She licked her lips nervously. "Any luck at the hospital?"

Buffy shook her head slowly as she looked away. Willow tentatively took one of Tara's hands in hers. "Pretty much what we thought," she explained.

"Oh." Tara nodded her head sadly. "Ok. Well, I guess we should do the spell then."

Tara situated herself in the center of the room, sitting Indian-style within a circle made of a fine powder-like substance. Willow moved to sit on the couch with Buffy and Dawn. She watched as Tara's face twisted in concentration, and she began softly chanting.

Willow felt the power enter the room, pool around Tara as she rapidly whispered the words of the spell. She saw it tunnel into Tara's body, watched it disperse throughout her as she asked it to work her will. But something was wrong. The commands Tara issued were going unanswered, and Willow felt her lover respond in frustration. After a few moments, Tara raggedly whispered, "It's a glamour. He's put a glamour spell around him."

Willow sat up nervously. "Just keep trying. Glamours are pretty weak."

She felt rather than saw Tara nod, and once again, Tara began softly chanting. But Willow knew that Tara was running on empty. The power was waning, leaking out of her body slowly but surely. She needed to do something. Tara wasn't going to be able to do it. _What if …?_

Willow pursed her lips decidedly and closed her eyes. Softly, she started whispering with Tara. She felt the power enter her body, coursing through her like electricity, zapping every one of her senses to life. God, she missed this.

She felt the inevitable barrier that Tara had encountered and with her mind, tried to push through it. It wouldn't budge. _Hmm. Just got a find a way around it._ She reached out with her mind, searching every available avenue, until it came to her. She altered the words she whispered, beads of sweat forming on her brow as she felt the magic within her begin to work.

Scattered images began to assault her senses. Warren, screaming in agony as what seemed like hundreds of hands pummeled into him at once. Spike, smoking a cigarette as he taunted Xander and Giles. Anya, alone in a chair.

Eventually the images became more graphic, and Willow found it increasingly difficult to maintain her focus. The darkness in whatever place she had entered was immense, threatening to swallow her whole. She tried to stay above it all, linger from afar as she saw different images, images hazier than the ones preceding.

Images of things to come.

And then Willow was awarded with the knowledge that she was in Elton's mind. She was seeing things he saw, thinking things he thought, and feeling things he felt. The darkness in him grabbed a hold of her firmly, pulling her down with it. She started to scream, but found she had no voice. She was falling now, heading towards the source of it all, and when she saw what was waiting for her, she nearly passed out.

There was a sudden popping noise, and Willow felt herself careening back to reality at warp speed. She opened her eyes and gulped in huge breaths of air, as if she could never get enough. She was vaguely aware of Buffy hovering over her, speaking rapidly. Too fast, she thought. Too fast for someone to be able to talk.

Eventually, she was able to breathe more normally, and her vision unclouded a little. She sat up slowly, taking in the worried looks from Buffy, Dawn, and Tara.

Tara.

Although the dominant emotion emanating from Tara was relief, Willow could see the sad disappointment in her eyes as well. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

"Willow?"

She turned to Buffy and let out a breath raggedly. "I'm okay," she whispered. "I'm okay." Her voice choked up as she returned her gaze to Tara. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I thought …"

Tara squared her shoulders. "Not now, Willow. I'm just happy you're okay." She managed to smile at her weakly, but Willow could see the wetness in her eyes as she looked away.

"What happened, Willow?" Buffy asked, her voice bordering on frustrated.

Willow rubbed her eyes. "I messed up. I couldn't see where he was, so I tried to take a shortcut." She laughed dryly. "I ended up in his mind, I think."

Buffy's eyes grew wide. "In his mind?" she repeated.

"Yeah. And I still don't know where he is." She paused and looked Buffy straight in the eye. "But you should know, Spike is with him. Helping him."

Buffy shrugged helplessly. "Don't know why that didn't occur to me before." She grimaced. "_Of course _he's working with him." She felt Dawn flinch beside her, and she took hold of one of her hands firmly. "It's okay, Dawn. We'll deal with this. Everything will be okay." She squeezed her hand reassuringly and sighed. "We just have to figure out what we're going to do."

Willow licked her lips. "Well, that's going to be a little easier now. Not much, but a little."

"Why?"

"Because I saw what he's planning."


	14. Last Stages

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE - graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 14: Last Stages**

Giles sagged against his chains, the metal relentlessly biting through to his wrists. He winced as he felt the sticky warmth of blood trickle down his arm. Wonderful. Another thing on a long list to add to his discomfort.

Beside him, Xander groaned faintly. Giles turned his aching neck to the younger man, grimacing as he was reminded of the bad shape his cellmate was really in. Xander's skin was deathly pallid, hanging loosely off of his slightly portly body. They hadn't eaten in days; only water had been scantily supplied since their capture. Giles supposed that Elton had not wanted to bother with restroom trips. As it was, only twice had one of Elton's demons come with a bucket in which they were told to relieve themselves in. Giles had turned it down the first time, not willing to reduce himself to such standards, but after 36 hours of painful pressure on his bladder, he found himself welcoming the sight of the old bucket that Xander had mockingly nicknamed "Rusty".

"Hey," Xander croaked groggily, licking his parched lips. "How long was I out?" A note of worry crept into his voice. "Did I miss the water run?"

Giles sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not really sure. I've only just woken up myself."

Xander grunted. "Something's wrong. Buffy should have found us by now."

"Not necessarily." Giles shifted so as to support as much of his weight as possible. "This Elton fellow is quite powerful. He could have some sort of glamour spell on the place so as not to be seen."

Xander laughed dryly. "Just our luck. Willow's on the magic wagon just when we need her the most."

"There's always Tara."

Xander said nothing, knowing that although Tara was a talented wicca, she had never been quite in the same league as Willow. He suspected Giles shared his opinion, and he found within himself a sense of deep-felt gratitude for the older man for attempting to shelter him from the despair that lurked so close to the surface. He had never felt so much like a son before in his life.

He was just about to open his mouth to tell Giles as much when he was interrupted by the sound of plaster being smashed and a familiar British accented voice exclaiming, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Spike sauntered in shortly after, holding his fist as he cursed wildly. He seemed oblivious to them, pacing around like a claustrophobic with A.D.D., muttering something under his breath.

"Oh, lookey," Xander said sarcastically. "It's our best friend. What's the matter? Got an ouchie?"

Spike whipped his head around quickly, surprise reflected in his blue eyes. "They moved you," he stated distractedly.

Xander nodded. "Yeah. A couple of …" He trailed off and shook his head. "Actually, I have no idea when." He winced as his raw wrist rubbed against his chains a little too roughly. "So, what brings you to this corner of the Hellmouth? Come to taunt us? Because, really, it won't work. Lack of nourishment has really improved my ability to pass out on demand. Now, I can lose consciousness just by _thinking_ about Pizza Hut."

Spike was strangely silent as he resumed his pacing, absently rubbing the bloodied knuckles of his left hand.

Xander rolled his eyes. "You know, I _thought_ I was talking . . ." He sighed in disgust as Spike made his way to the wall opposite of them and proceeded to sit. "So now you're just going to sit here with us? Share in our pain? Like we're old friends?"

Spike tilted his head to one side and regarded Xander coldly. "Hardly." He rooted around his pockets for his cigarettes until he held up one triumphantly. "We were never _friends_." He practically spat the last word out, and Giles was left wondering if that was bitterness he was hearing.

"You can say that again. The only reason we put up with you for so long was because Buffy had this really strange set of ethics. She seemed to think it was wrong to dust a defenseless evil thing." Xander smirked. "Something tells me she won't have a problem with dusting you now, and I, for one, hope I have front-row seats to that ass-kicking."

Giles observed the blond vampire thoughtfully as Spike cupped his hands around the cigarette and flicked the lighter on. The orange glow from the flame made his features appear more human, softening the sharp angles of his face and giving the illusion of color on pale skin. But then the lighter flicked off and the illusion was gone, tempered only by the burning tip of the cigarette that he brought to his lips.

Giles noted absently that Xander was still talking, attempting to save face when there was really no face to save, at this point. He was directly insulting Spike now, trying to draw him out. But Spike was behaving rather oddly, outright ignoring Xander without a hint of a snarky reply waiting to be sprung. Instead, he stared vacantly at a point on the wall behind them, the occasional drag on his cigarette his only movement.

Xander turned his head to face Giles. "Is it me, or is Evil Undead here doing a really good impersonation of Nick Andros from _The Stand_?" He rolled his eyes at Giles' blank stare. "Come on! _The Stand_? Stephen King miniseries a few years back? Rob Lowe plays a deaf-mute? Oh, nevermind." Xander sighed heavily.

Giles silently prayed for the patience that had long abandoned him and shook his head wearily. Spike was no longer staring at the wall now. His eyes were trained on the ground in front of him, and a long column of ash was all that remained of the cigarette that lay forgotten in his right hand. Giles narrowed his eyes. Something was incredibly off with the vampire, and the quiet demeanor wasn't the only indication.

"Something you wanted, mate?"

Giles started as the blond vampire's eyes rolled up to meet his. He noticed immediately the emptiness in his expression, the dullness of his eyes, the stoic manner. This was definitely not the Spike of old. The old Spike would have taken immense pleasure in their predicament, most definitely baiting Xander about his conquest over Buffy, possibly even indulging himself in a few rounds of light torture. And the boasting. One cannot reflect on the Spike of old and forget about the blond's weakness for bragging it up. Yes, he would, without a doubt, be gleefully crowing right about now.

Certainly not lulling about, looking as if someone had just shot his best friend.

Giles issued him a tight smile. "No, no. You just go about your business. Continue your little performance, if you will."

Spike's eyebrow shot up. "What?"

_Hmm. Curious._ "Oh, I only meant your little brooding session over there. It's quite amusing. I don't think anyone has managed to channel Angel so thoroughly as you have right this very moment. Really, it's perfection. Cheers, mate." Giles smirked as he watched the anger flash in the vampire's eyes and roll through the rest of his body until it finally propelled him to stand up abruptly.

"I do _NOT_ brood." Spike was in front of him almost instantly, his face inches away from his own. "If you value your life, you'll learn to keep your mouth shut." The two Brits exchanged a long cold glare before Spike dropped his eyes and took a step back.

Giles continued to stare at the vampire, and Spike grew increasingly uncomfortable under the Watcher's gaze. He shuffled about, looking anywhere but at Giles, padding his pockets for his cigarettes, only to return them to his pocket untouched. Giles watched with growing interest, his expression hardening with measured suspicion. "Just what are you playing at, Spike?" he asked, his voice uncommonly low and streaked with unsteady realization.

Spike did not answer, but his actions quieted until he was standing completely still. Giles' expression further hardened. "Answer me, damn it!"

Spike slowly rolled his eyes up to regard Giles, smiling stiffly. "Nothing I can't handle, _mate_." He shrugged a shoulder.

Giles leaned back into the wall and shook his head slowly. "You're a bloody fool," he whispered, closing his eyes to the vampire before him.

Spike guffawed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well. To each his own an' all that rot," he muttered as he turned toward the entranceway. He stood completely still, craning his neck as if he was listening for something. After a few moments, he drew himself up straight and casually lit up a cigarette.

Xander glanced at Giles and raised an eyebrow questionably. He had the distinct impression that something important had just transpired between Giles and Spike, and that they apparently had been speaking in some sort of secret code that none of his comic books had covered. He opened his mouth to say something, but Spike was quick to cut him off.

"Don't say anything you might regret, you ninny," he ground out threateningly. Something in his tone bothered Xander, and for once he was inclined to do as he was told. He sighed in frustration and settled back into his chains just as three of the Puisie midgets arrived. They were newly armed, each of them brandishing a crude-looking knife. Spike nodded curtly to them before stubbing out his cigarette.

"So, Elton finally getting around to those plans of his?" he asked.

One of the demons grunted in response and Spike brought his hand up to his forehead, briefly closing his eyes.

"Something wrong with you?" the demon asked, his eyes betraying his suspicion.

Spike quickly waved him off. "S'nothing. Just a headache. Nothing a good kill won't fix." He smiled wryly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And Anya? She still refusing to obey our great leader?"

Giles heard Xander sigh in relief, and for once, he felt a sense of appreciation for the vampire. Xander was now, thankfully, aware that Anya was at least for now alright, and Spike had found a way to let him know it without setting off any red flags with Elton. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that what Spike lacked in common sense he more than made up for in raw intelligence. So strange, that Spike's schemes had never managed to work out successfully before. His eyes darkened, distinctly aware that this newest scheme would most likely have the same result.

The Puisie midget nodded slowly. "That's why we're here. Elton wants this one," he jerked a thumb at Xander, "and he told us to be quick about it." The two other Puisie midgets produced keys and immediately started unlocking the locks that held the chains around Xander.

Xander looked at Giles and then Spike. "What does he want with me?"

Spike shrugged and smiled slightly. "I reckon you're the bartering chip."

"Bartering chip?" Xander grunted as one of the Puisie midgets hauled him over one shoulder. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Spike didn't answer, instead he looked away as the Puisie midgets disappeared with Xander around the corner. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and ventured a glance at Giles. "I suppose I should watch. Always did want to see the whelp tortured, although I always thought it'd be me inflicting it. Pity, that." He turned to follow.

"Wait."

Spike froze, but didn't turn to face him. "What is it?"

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"Yeah, I do." Spike turned around and shot Giles a glare that could melt the polar ice caps. "When are you bloody white caps going to get it? I'm a vampire. This is what I was meant to do. You're just like her, you know," he scoffed. "Thinking I should change for the better when all she's ever told me is that I can't. That no matter what, I'll never be like you all." He shook his head slowly. "No, I was meant to find Elton in New York. I know that now. And I cannot wait to show you pillocks exactly what I'm capable of tomorrow." He held Giles' gaze for a moment before turning and striding purposefully back in the direction the Puisie midgets had taken Xander.

* * *

"My dear, all you have to do is say yes." Elton lightly traipsed his fingers down Anya's neck and leaned his head so his lips were a breath away from her ear. "Then you can see what power really feels like."

Anya cringed and jerked her head away from him. "Get the hell away from me." She mustered up as much courage as she could and glared at him. "I can't wait until Buffy gets here and kicks your ass."

Elton smiled knowingly. "Yeah, that'll happen." He nodded at the doorway, and Anya's breath caught in her throat as she saw Xander forcefully pushed through, his hands bound behind his back as three Puisie midgets guided him to stand in front of Elton.

"Xander," she whispered, her eyes beginning to tear.

Relief flooded through Xander as his fell on Anya tied to the chair, apparently unharmed. "Thank God, he didn't hurt you. Don't worry, Anya. Everything's going to be ok."

Elton laughed, shooting Xander a look that clearly indicated things were everything but alright. "I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken." He turned to Anya once again, and tilted his head to one side. "It's your choice, Anya. Either you agree to become a demon once again, or your boy toy gets an anatomy lesson."

Anya shook her head in confusion. "I don't get it. If you really wanted to make me a demon, why don't you just do it? Why do you have to threaten to hurt Xander?"

"Because," Elton began with forced patience, "you have to be willing. It won't work unless you want to actually become a demon."

Xander watched the exchange and furrowed his brow. "You want her to be a demon again?"

Elton rolled his eyes. "This doesn't concern you."

"The hell it does!" Elton turned to glare at the angry dark-haired boy. Xander ignored Elton and looked at Anya, his eyes pleading. "Please, Anya. Don't do it. It's not worth it."

"But Xander-"

"Enough!" Elton bellowed. He forced down his frustration and issued Anya a tight smile. "This is your last chance." Two Puisie midgets grabbed Xander by each shoulder and held him tightly while the remaining one held up his knife. "Choose wisely."

Anya and Xander locked gazes, and Xander shook his head slightly. Tears sprung to Anya's eyes as she looked away, no longer able to face the man she loved. Elton followed the exchange and nodded irritably at the Puisie midget brandishing the knife.

Elton watched with growing amusement as Anya struggled to maintain her composure. She winced as Xander began to let the Puisie midget's artful use of his knife get the better of him. It wasn't long before the short hisses of pain escalated to full out screaming, and the tears fell freely from Anya's eyes. Elton grinned wickedly and sighed contentedly. No, it wouldn't be long now …

* * *

Spike did his best to mask his trepidation with indifference as he approached the area where he knew Anya was being held. The whelp's screams could be heard from a good distance off, and Spike's vampiric hearing only amplified it. He closed his eyes briefly and gathered the stones to cross the remaining length of blackened floorboards to the source of the commotion.

He wasn't prepared for the extent of harm inflicted on Xander. After all, he had only just left his sight less than ten minutes ago. They had removed his shirt, and shallow slices of red zig-zagged across the expanse of his bare chest. The blood from the cuts pooled at Xander's waist, building steadily until it overflowed, coursing over the waistband of his jeans. Spike made a mental note to try to keep his demon in check. He hadn't fed since that girl, after all, and the way that Xander was bleeding … well, apparently being tied up for the better part of a week hadn't hindered the boy's circulation.

Spike nearly gasped when his eyes reached Xander's face. The buggers had etched the fucking Mercedes symbol on one of his cheeks! _Jesus. And they thought I was evil._ Besides the knife handiwork, the Puisie midget had also applied a little brute strength. It appeared that Xander's nose was broken, and one eye was already purple and closed shut.

Elton turned to face him, and Spike desperately hoped he wasn't wearing the expression of disgust that he felt. Elton didn't seem to notice anything, however, and crooked a finger at him, beckoning him to approach. Spike nodded and quickly strode over.

"Come to enjoy the show?" Elton asked.

Spike laughed. "I could hear it from clear across the building."

Elton nodded amusedly and turned his eyes to Anya. "She's still being … difficult, though."

Spike observed the ex-demon and felt a pang of empathy. She looked so much like a little girl, her eyes heartbreakingly lost as she cried silently. "This demon guy," he said, changing the subject. "He just works his mojo and that's it? She won't be able to turn back?"

Elton narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Spike shrugged a shoulder. "It's just they've got this witch on their side, and she's pretty powerful. Wouldn't want Anya to be turning back to her soulful self at a crucial point, if you see what I'm saying."

Elton shook his head. "No magic can change her back. Just the demon."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "The demon?"

"Yeah. If he gets killed, then everyone he's ever made dies with him. Something with his blood links him to the others."

Spike stubbed the toe of his boot into the blackened ground. "She'd be dead?"

Elton turned to look at him. "I honestly don't know. I've only seen it done on other demons. The kind of demon this thing makes … well, let's just say they're special." He grinned and turned back toward Xander, who's head was rolling precariously on his neck. The Puisie midget started working on Xander's arm, peeling his skin off slowly as if he were an apple. Xander let out one last scream before collapsing against his aggressors.

Elton furrowed his brow. "What happened?"

"He's unconscious, Sir."

Elton rolled his eyes. "Well, wake him up. We're not done here."

"No."

Spike and Elton turned to Anya. Her jaw trembled slightly as she raised her eyes to Elton. "Please, no more. He doesn't deserve this." She closed her eyes and added softly, "I'm not worth this."

Elton tilted his head to one side. "Does that mean you agree?"

Anya let out a shuddering sigh and nodded slowly.

"Great." Elton brought both his hands together and rubbed them against each other. "Now, dispose of the boy, and I'll send for the Trangor."

Spike's eyes flew to Anya's and then to Xander's prone form being lifted by the Puisie midgets. "Wait," he said, putting his hands up. He turned to Elton. "You're not really going to dispose of him, are you? I mean, he's still useful to us."

Elton cocked his head to one side. "How so? We already have the Watcher."

"The Watcher's all well and good, but Xander is one of her best chums. He's still valuable to us, mate. 'Sides, it's not like we have to worry about him escaping. Just look at him." He jerked his chin in the direction that Xander lay.

Elton sighed. "I suppose you're right. All right, then. Just put him back with the Watcher." The Puisie midgets nodded and hauled the unconscious Xander out of the room. "Well," Elton said, turning to Anya. "Should we get started?"

Anya nodded reluctantly as Elton turned to Spike. "Do you want to watch? It's really an amazing process."

Spike forced a smile. "Sure." He watched as Elton closed his eyes and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Moments later, he felt the tell-tale popping in his ears that was indicative of Elton's return. Black smoke billowed heavily into the room, as two figures stepped out from it. The first was Elton, smiling broadly as he stepped over to Anya and began untying her bonds. The second figure was much larger, as broad as he was tall. Two red eyes stared out from deep-set sockets. Spike almost laughed when the smoke cleared and the bright pink skin of the demon could be seen, but he quickly reconsidered when the Trangor shot him a glare. _Deadly, that one_.

"Okay," Elton said, pulling Anya up and pushing her towards the Trangor demon. "Here she is."

The Trangor took in Anya's shaking limbs and tearful countenance and looked back at Elton. "She's not exactly willing, is she?"

Elton's gaze did not waver. "Willing enough. Isn't that right, Anya?"

Anya shivered and let out a shaky breath. She looked towards the ground and nodded.

The Trangor demon shrugged uncaringly and lifted Anya's chin so she was staring him in the eyes. "Hold your palms out," he ordered.

Anya tentatively raised her arms so her palms faced the demon. The Trangor raised his arms as well, placing his enormous hands against her tiny ones. "Now," he breathed, closing his eyes. "This might hurt a little."

Anya screamed as sharp spear-like stickers jutted out from each of the Trangor's hands and pierced through her hands. But then the pain was gone, and she watched with a mixture of terror and fascination as a glowing pink substance traveled up the length of the Trangor's arm, through his hand, and finally through her hand. She felt the warmth of the demon's essence coursing through her, setting her insides on fire.

And then, everything went black.

* * *

"So, I guess we attack tomorrow then." Buffy paced around her living room. "Before Elton can set off that weird device thingy."

Willow nodded slowly. "But it's going to be tricky. I think, and bear with me for a second, I think we need to let him set that device off."

"Huh?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Will, did that little mind trip you went on damage the parts of your brain that actually do the thinking? Because setting off an interdimensional bomb hardly seems like the right course of action. At least, for the ones actually trying to save the world."

Willow rolled her eyes. "We just need it to open for a second. I swear. But," she glanced nervously at Tara and quickly looked back at Buffy, "Elton is extremely powerful. And I know I shouldn't even be thinking this, but I've gone over it a dozen times in my head, and there's no other way." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I have to use magic."

Tara's head shot up. "What? No, Willow. You can't."

Buffy nodded. "I agree with Tara, Will. It's too dangerous. I mean, who knows what the repercussions for what you've already done are going to be as it is. You can't just go around tempting fate."

Willow shook her head. "You guys don't understand. I've seen what Elton can do. What he's already done. He's too strong to defeat without magic." She broke off, her eyes starting to tear. "Xander, Giles, and Anya need our help. I can't just stand by and let them die. Because that's what's going to happen if we don't pull out all the stops. Even if I lose myself in magic, it'll all be worth it if they're safe."

Buffy put a hand on Willow's shoulder. "No, I'm not going to lose any of us. There has to be some other way."

Willow shook her head sadly and looked at Tara. "Do you honestly think I'd be so adamant about this if there were?"

Tara closed her eyes and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. "I guess we should discuss how this is going to work, then." Willow winced, feeling her newfound bond with Tara slowly slipping out of her grasp.

Buffy shrugged helplessly. "Okay, Will. If you say this is the only way, I guess I'm going to have to take your word for it. How do we stop Elton?"

Willow took a deep breath and looked pointedly at Buffy. "First, there's something you should know. About Spike, and what he's planning to do." She shook her head. "You're going to have to kill him before he can."

Buffy's lips pressed together firmly and she brought her eyes to Willow's unwaveringly. "I know. I've known for awhile now. And I think I'm ready."


	15. Kiss of a Killer

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE – graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 15: Kiss of a Killer**

Dawn tip-toed across the hallway, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder at Buffy's door to ensure that her sister hadn't slipped upstairs without her knowing. The door was shut tightly, just as it had been before. Good. She breathed a sigh of relief and continued on until she had reached the stairwell. Gingerly, she placed one foot in front of the other, slowly descending the stairs, cringing when a floorboard squeaked underneath her foot. She froze, waiting for the inevitable sound of Buffy's feet thundering toward the stairwell and her shrill "mom voice" to reprimand her for being out of bed. But the low murmur of voices continued, oblivious to the brunette trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Dawn almost snorted in amusement. Some crack team they were. She eased her way farther down, sinking down on the last step that lay hidden behind the living room wall and peering cautiously around it.

"What about Dawn?" Tara was saying. "Should we let her know what's happening?"

Buffy shook her head. "I told her this morning that tonight was the night. Besides, she's already asleep. Hopefully, by the time she wakes up, this will all be over with."

"But is it really wise to leave her alone? I mean, what if we don't-"

"Never going to happen," Buffy cut in. She spread her arms out. "What choice do we have? I need both of you tonight, and everyone else we know is either kidnapped or evil."

Tara nodded resignedly and turned to Willow, who was sitting on the sofa, her eyes closed in concentration. "Will?" she said softly, her eyes downcast.

Willow lazily opened her eyes and stared at Tara. "Yeah?"

"Do you know what time exactly Elton plans to use the device?"

"Midnight. But we should be there earlier." She closed her eyes once again and took a deep breath.

Buffy leaned into Tara and nodded at Willow. "What is she doing?" she whispered.

Tara smiled slightly. "She's focusing her energies, trying to guide the magic in her instead of letting the magic control her." Her smile faded, and her expression became almost wistful. "I taught her how to do it. When we first met. It's been so long since I've seen her do it, though." She shrugged and crossed to the other side of the room.

Buffy stared at Tara, acutely aware of the emotions rolling through her. To have placed so much hope in one person, and then for that person to fall short of your expectations … She sighed, wishing for the millionth time that she had never trusted Spike. And she had trusted him, despite all her violent protesting of the matter. She had allowed him into her life, sought out his help regarding Dawn. God, she made him promise to protect her! The memory of that night burned through her – the look on his face when she had told him that they weren't all going to make it, bravely accepting his own fate as long as it meant fighting beside her. And the swell of pride when she had asked him to protect her. ''Till the end of the world,' he'd said. 'Even if that means tonight.' Not noticing the underlying reason for that promise. She had always known, if only on a subconscious level, that she was already dead.

She remembered him asking her if she trusted him, dangling a pair of handcuffs in the air as if they were the answer, as if they could determine his trustworthiness. She had wanted to scream at him then. Didn't he know that she didn't care if she lived or she died? That it didn't matter if he drained her dry? He was operating on the assumption that she was letting him in, letting him inside her body, and that she was finally coming to accept him, when all it was was proving him right, back when he had told her that all slayers had a death wish.

But despite her shaky start, she had begun to care about life again. She didn't go so far as to attribute it to sleeping with Spike, but he had played a part in it. Even in the throes of passion, their bodies slamming at each other with supernatural speed and strength, when all thought except racing towards release seemed impossible, he would just look at her, blue eyes boring into hers, like she was something to be worshipped. And for a moment, she would believe it, her orgasm tearing through her as he gasped in his own release. But then she would remember what she was, and what he was, and what they absolutely could not be together, which more often than not sent her running before the clothes were even on.

If he'd only known how deep he'd been inside of her, body and spirit. She smiled wistfully. All those times he'd whispered sweet nothings in her ear when he'd thought she'd been asleep. He never knew how they had affected her. She had never told him, too desperate to push him away before he could see the truth.

And now, it seemed, he no longer held anything but hatred for her.

"Are you ready Buffy?" Willow tilted her head to the side.

Buffy took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be." She smiled grimly. "Let's go kick some demon ass."

Dawn quickly scrambled up the stairs as quietly as she could, just barely slipping into the upstairs hallway as Buffy, Willow, and Tara passed by underneath. Buffy cast one last look up the stairs before turning to the front door.

As soon as she heard the door slam, Dawn was a flurry of activity, divesting herself of her pajamas as she hurriedly searched for a clean pair of jeans. There was no way in hell she was just going to sit around and wait for Buffy to come back. She needed to see, with her own two eyes, that the man she'd come to care for over last summer was really reverted back to his old ways. And if he had, she needed to see Buffy kill him. Because, despite the permanent state of naiveté they all thought her to be in, Dawn Summers was no moron. She'd smelled the smoke on Buffy's clothes on many a laundry day, seen the way her sister tensed whenever Spike had come into a room. There were other things, of course. Yucky things that she'd tried unsuccessfully to repress. Like on Buffy's birthday, when she had opened up the portable massager from Willow, and Spike had raised an eyebrow. Yeah. Dawn had all sorts of gross thoughts about that massager from then on, going so far as to wear oven mitts when she had to move it off the table that one time. But the thing that had really secured her belief in their secret relationship: Buffy's frequent periods of absence directly coincided with Spike's abrupt disappearance from her life. Dawn knew, without a doubt, that Spike would never have ignored her as he had done, unless Buffy had finally given him the time of day.

Dawn set her lips in a line of grim determination as she shoved a stake up her shirt sleeve. If Buffy couldn't do it, she would see to it herself. Her sister was all she had left in this world that mattered to her, and she wasn't about to let anyone, including Spike, take her away again.

* * *

Andrew made his way through the charred ruin that had once been his high school, clutching his small wooden flute underneath one of his arms protectively. It would do no good to accidentally break the thing now, as it was the only thing standing between him and impending death, he was sure. He felt his heart rate quicken when he thought of what he had to do tonight, the many possibilities his carefully planned deception could lead to. He couldn't shake the fixed sense of apprehension, however. He had resigned himself to the probability of his death, either way. But he'd be damned if he didn't take Elton with him when he went.

He carefully fingered the metallic insert at the bottom of his flute, the insert that Warren had designed. Warren. He hadn't allowed himself to grieve over his death yet. Not when so much was at stake. Instead, he let the anger roll through him, give him the courage to do what he hadn't thought possible.

So lost in thought was he that he almost didn't notice Spike fall into step beside him. Almost. He hazarded a glance at the blond vampire, noted the impossibly aloof countenance, and quickly looked away. No reading that one. Spike was like engaging in conversation with a tree stump these days: impassive, stoic, and silent. It was difficult to tell where his loyalties really lay – Andrew was beginning to think Spike was just as unsure as he was. But they would never speak of that. Speaking about the wrong thing got you killed.

They reached the entranceway to the library, both hesitating before Spike rolled his eyes, and gestured for him to go through. Andrew smiled tightly and climbed over the hill of debris that lined the edge of the library.

Spike, despite his stilly exterior, was bordering on a nervous breakdown. He tried to calm himself by going through the plan again, step by step. Elton could not be, in any way, suspicious of him, or everything would be for naught. The short demon ponce was faster and stronger than anything he'd ever come across before, and if he blew his cover, there was no way he would ever get close enough to Elton's newest toy. He'd play along until the opportunity arose. He didn't think Elton would stop to do his little mind trips while they were in battle, which was good. Maybe he could somehow warn Buffy. He closed his eyes and shook his head. No. Buffy wouldn't believe him anyway. He would have to do this the hard way. Maybe he could nick the damn bomb before he had to fight Buffy. Or maybe -

"Spike."

Spike shook his head and turned toward the source of the voice. Andrew stood on the other side of the debris, impatiently tapping his foot.

"What is it?" he sighed, climbing over the debris and gracefully dropping to the ground next to Andrew.

"Elton wants to see you."

"What a surprise," he muttered, taking a moment to take in his surroundings. Hundreds of candles flickered throughout the room, casting an unearthly glow on the blackened walls. Xander and Giles had been moved once again, tied to one of the few remaining support beams. He flinched a little at the sight of Xander's thrashed, unconscious form, and Giles' unblinking accusing glare. He lifted his chin and shrugged nonchalantly. What did the old man want from him anyway? The boy was still alive, thanks to him.

Elton was conversing with the Trangor demon, looking mildly irritated. Spike felt a slow smile begin to spread across his face. It was nice to know that there were some things that Elton still had to muddle his way through.

"No, you don't seem to understand," Elton said, poking the Trangor's chest with one finger. "You do as I tell you. I'm the boss here."

The Trangor stared down at Elton's finger and frowned. Elton rolled his eyes and drew his hand back. "As much as I admire you, Elton, there are a few things you need to learn about being boss."

"Such as?"

"Namely, the art of compromise. Now, I just helped you with your new demon girl, so I feel that it is only fair that I am given my rightful share of the profits."

"What you ask for cannot be given!" Elton yelled.

The Trangor raised an eyebrow. Or, he would have, if he'd had any. "It's been given to the vampire."

"The _vampire _has been the reason I've gotten as far as I have. Without him, I wouldn't have even known about the Hellmouth."

"So, you'd prefer if I took your demon girl back with me then?"

Elton sighed heavily and smiled plastically. "No. Let's not come to that. Maybe I can spare Antarctica or something."

The Trangor shook his head. "The cold isn't very beneficial to my skin tone."

"Jesus Christ!" Elton was in full-blown hissy fit mode, arms and legs swinging about, determined to make anything in his way suffer the consequences for the Trangor's frustrating behavior. Spike could no longer hold it back any longer, so he started to laugh.

"This is really starting to make me question my faith in your abilities as leader, Elton," the Trangor said mildly.

Elton looked around wildly, caught sight of Spike shaking in laughter, and glared at him. "You – shut up! And you," he said, turning back to the Trangor, "are one of the most aggravating demons I've ever met." He paused to consider his words, and then jerked his thumb in Spike's direction. "Besides him, of course."

"Of course."

Elton lifted his hand to his forehead and massaged his temples. "Very well," he said after a few moments. "Africa, and that's my final offer. Plus, no fighting for you. If you get yourself offed before we even get to enjoy the spoils of war, I'll be very angry."

"Your terms are acceptable." The Trangor nodded curtly before unceremoniously dropping to sit on a pile of rubble.

Elton sighed wearily and gestured to Spike and Andrew. "Come. It won't be long now."

Spike reached into his coat and retrieved a cigarette. "So," he said conversationally as he lit up, "the remaining Slayerettes get their message yet?"

Elton grimaced. "Oh, damn it, I knew there was something I forgot to do." He snapped his fingers, and almost instantly, there were dozens of giant neon signs engraved in magic with arrows expressing phrases like 'This way to Hellsville' and 'Who's Your Daddy? Follow the arrow and find out.' Spike's jaw dropped, and his cigarette fell to the ground.

"What the hell is this?" he sputtered.

Elton grinned. "Free advertising. They're throughout the town. Don't think the Slayer will miss them."

Spike shook his head and fought the urge to slap Elton upside the head. Instead, he busied himself with getting another cigarette. "And Anya? Where is our little demon princess this evening?"

Elton shrugged and smiled. "She's … around. I wanted to save her for later. You know. Maybe she can be the one to get rid of our hostages once they're no longer needed." He turned to Andrew. "How much longer?"

Andrew glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes or so. Oh, I was meaning to ask you, when do you want me to summon the Meleznic demons? Before or after the bomb?"

Elton paused to consider. "I suppose right before. I don't want to have to actually fight, you see. Not that I couldn't crush anything that comes through that hole to little bits, but it wouldn't be proper." He sniffed and straightened his back. "I'll soon be the leader of the world as we know it, after all."

Spike almost rolled his eyes. "Yeah. That you will be," he muttered.

Elton glanced side-ways at him. "What? No faith? You just concentrate on how you're going to kill that Slayer. Let me worry about the rest. Speaking of the rest …" Elton produced the tiny cube device and held it out in his open palm. Slowly, it began to levitate in the air, surrounded by blue light. Spike inwardly swore. A magic force field was going to make it a lot more difficult to retrieve the tiny bomb.

Elton grinned. "Let's see the Slayer try to get that now."

"Actually, I'm more interested in getting you. Dead, that is."

Spike turned toward the familiar voice, senses going into overdrive. His eyes locked with hers, and he felt the excitement rising in him. Elton tilted his head to the side. "My, she is a tiny little thing, isn't she?" His gaze hardened. "Kill her."

A slow smile curled around Spike's lips. Buffy had a moment to recognize that look as one from years' past, before he lunged at her.

He got a few punches in, effectively backing her into a wall. "What's the matter, Slayer? I wear you out the other night? Or has the acute sense of déjà vu got you off your game?"

She responded by popping him in the nose, sending him reeling from the blow. She cocked her head to one side. "Why'd you do it, Spike? All you had to do was play nice, lie low, and no one would have been the wiser. But, _no_. Once again, you defy all the laws of common sense and come back _here_. To _MY_ town. And now you're going to have to spend the rest of your existence clogging up somebody's dustbuster."

Spike hurled himself at her, swinging his arm up to her chin. But she was faster, grabbing his wrist and twisting it around his back. He grunted in pain as she lifted one well-toned leg and kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling across the ground. "Pretty good, Slayer," he acknowledged as he got to his feet.

She went for him again. This time, he was faster, blocking her first few blows before swinging his own fist up to connect with her chin. She flew backwards and landed hard on a pile of rubble. "Now, now," he tsked, grin spreading wide. "Sloppy."

"You better enjoy it while it lasts, Spike," she hissed, getting up. "Because that's the last freebie you're getting."

His eyes became ice blue abysses of solemnity. "Bring it on."

Willow and Tara watched from behind the wall they were positioned at as Buffy and Spike began to fight in earnest. Willow's eyes broke away from the two blonds as she scanned the rest of the old library. When her eyes fell on Xander and Giles, she tugged on Tara's shirt and pointed to them. "There," she whispered. "You see?"

Tara nodded in affirmation, and her eyes widened as she studied Xander more closely. "Willow …"

"I know," Willow cut her off. "I saw what the bastard was planning, remember? He was actually a lot worse in the vision, so I'm counting my chickens right now." She shook her head at Tara's raised eyebrow. "Never mind. Just get to them. You'll probably have to do a healing spell on Xander. It doesn't look like he's conscious. I'll distract Elton."

Tara glanced around the perimeter quickly. "Where's Anya?"

"I don't know. She could be … well, if she's what I think she is, then let's be grateful she's not here right now."

Tara nodded and crept up to the corner of the wall. She looked at Willow, waiting for her signal. Only, none came. She tilted her head to the side. "Willow?"

Willow brought her eyes up to meet Tara's, and Tara could see the pain and desperation in them. "I just wanted you to know," the red-head began, wiping away the few stubborn tears that had sprung to her eyes, "that … I'm sorry. I'm sorry I disappointed you." She paused, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry I lost you again," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Tara studied Willow, pushing back the swarm of emotions that immediately stirred within her. Hesitantly, she reached her arm out, lightly touching Willow's pinky finger. She smiled faintly as Willow looked up at her. "You haven't lost me, yet, Willow," she said softly.

Willow stared into Tara's eyes, smiling gratefully at the crumb she had been thrown. She wasn't naïve enough to take Tara's admission for anything more than that. Not this time. She silently promised herself that if they got out of this alive, she would spend the rest of her days proving to Tara how much she meant to her.

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and nodded soberly. Tara took a deep breath. Right. Back to business.

Willow stepped out from their hiding place, plastering on the most menacing look she could summon. Elton immediately took notice, smiling slowly as his gaze centered on her.

"Witch," he greeted amicably, taking a step closer. "I've been expecting you. Was that you playing around in here the other day?" he asked, pointing to his head.

Willow momentarily blanched but recovered quickly, putting her hands on her hips as she shot him a grin that was pure evil. "None other." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Tara slipping off to the side, making a bee-line for Xander and Giles. Elton seemed unaware, leering at Willow as he took a few steps closer so that only fifteen feet of space lay between them.

"What say we skip the pleasantries and get right to the ass-kicking, shall we?" Elton sneered.

"Fine by me." Willow swung her arm out, emitting a bright beam of magic that shot straight at Elton. Elton grinned and held up his forearm, seemingly knocking the magic away.

"It's going to take a lot more than that, little girl," he laughed. His grin turned malicious as he threw an energy bolt easily twice as big as Willow's had been with deadly accuracy. Willow managed to deflect the brunt of it, but a small portion hit her. Hard. She hissed in pain and countered.

Tara studiously avoided watching the face-off between Willow and Elton. Instead, she quickened her pace, relief flooding through her as Giles lifted his head. "Oh, thank God, you're alright!" she exclaimed.

"Tara?" Giles brought two bloodshot eyes up to meet Tara's.

Tara smiled amusedly. "That's me. Do you think you can walk if I get you untied?"

Giles glanced at Xander. "I think so, but, as you can see, Xander is somewhat incapacitated."

Tara's eyes filled with tears as she got her first good look at Xander. "Oh my God," she breathed.

"Yes, I know. They've gotten quite creative with torture these days. I can only wonder why they didn't just kill him."

Tara shook her head and reached inside her jacket pocket, producing a small plastic bag filled with assorted plant leaves.

"What's all this?"

"Healing spell," she replied, opening the bag and pulling a few of the leaves loose. "It won't completely cure him, but hopefully it will be enough to get him walking." She pulled one of the darker leaves from the bottom of the bag. "And this will help with the scarring. It's best to do it now, in tandem with the healing spell." She returned the plastic bag back to her jacket pocket and held the bunch of leaves she had pulled from the bag between her palms. Closing her eyes, she began to whisper words in a language that Giles vaguely recognized as Portuguese, or Spanish. He watched in fascination as her hands began to glow luminous white. Slowly, she opened her hands and guided the white light over Xander. She concentrated most of the light over his chest, waited until most of it had poured into the wounds before bringing the remaining light over his face and arm. When the light had been properly distributed, she said the Spanish word for 'seal', and the light congealed into Xander's skin, closing the wounds and becoming part of his skin.

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Is that it?"

Tara nodded. "He should wake up in just a few minutes. Give it time to work. In the meantime …" She let the sentence hang as she pulled out a large dagger from her other pocket and grinned.

Giles couldn't help but grin back. "No magic?"

"Nah," she said, sawing through the thick rope that bound Giles' hands. "This is much more fun."

Xander groaned faintly just as Tara cut through the last of the rope. Giles and Tara turned to him, working the dagger to cut through his ropes as well. Xander popped one eye open, taking in the blond wicca and the recently freed Giles. He looked around expectantly. "Where's Anya?" he rasped.

Tara shook her head. "Willow said to get you guys back to the house. There's no time to find her now. I'll come back after you guys are safe to help Willow and Buffy find her."

Xander snorted. "No way. I'm not leaving without Anya."

Giles looked at Tara helplessly and turned back to Xander. "Xander, I'm afraid Tara has a point. We're not in any shape to do much of anything. We'd just be in the way."

"No, you don't understand." Xander struggled to stand up as the ropes fell away behind him. "That bastard was trying to make her a demon."

Tara put her hand on Xander's arm. "Xander … I don't know how to tell you this. Willow said …"

"Willow said what?"

Tara shook her head. "Willow said that it might already be too late. We need to get out of here. Please." She stared at him, eyes imploring, until a loud crash demanded their attention.

Buffy stood up gingerly from where Spike had thrown her into the wall. "Is that all you got?" she taunted, striding over to him. "I remember you being a lot stronger. Maybe you're slipping in your old age." She raised her arm to strike, only to stop in mid-swing as Willow screamed, a particularly well-aimed bolt of magic bowling her over.

The moment of hesitation was all he needed. Spike lunged, twisting both of her hands behind her back and pulling her to his chest. He looked up to see Elton watching him, dark eyes burning with anticipation. Spike looked back at Buffy, saw the fear in her hazel depths, and did his best to plaster a smirk on his face. "Game over, love," he said, morphing into game face. She struggled against him as he bent to her throat, fangs grazing the soft skin there. She had a moment to realize that he was whispering in her ear, telling her something important, before all coherent thought fled as he slid his fangs into her throat.

She cried out in pain at the initial piercing, and then began to whimper as she felt the first strong pull of her life's blood leaving her body. It felt like liquid fire running through her veins, augmenting and abating, consuming every one of her senses. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain as her struggles weakened against his iron grip. But she only seemed to feel it more deeply, as if cutting off one of her senses only amplified every other. She could hear her own breath, shallow and weak, in her chest. She felt her heartbeat thundering in her chest, racing to pump the blood that was being stolen so efficiently. Slowly, the pain began to lessen, ebbing to a dull ache, and she felt her legs begin to weaken. It wasn't long until she fell to her knees, Spike falling with her as he held her tighter, pulled on her blood one last time. She saw the silvery stars streaking behind her eyes, before she finally succumbed to the oblivion of unconsciousness.

Spike felt her limbs go lax against him, and it took him a few moments for his brain to register what had happened. Mind-numbing panic finally took over as he pulled away from her, her head lolling to the side as he pulled his arms around her back. He had taken too much. _Fuck. Fuck!_ His mind spun out of control, blinding terror taking hold of him as he breathlessly listened for a heartbeat. He closed his eyes in relief when he finally heard the steady, if slow, thumping.

"No!" Willow's harsh cry cut through him, and he turned to see her wild eyes staring at Buffy's prone form in disbelief. Elton watched in amusement as the red-head sank to her knees, screaming unintelligibly at Spike. In an instant, a large ball of blue energy swirled above his hand. He laughed, bringing Willow's attention back to himself, just as he thrust the energy at her.

She never had time to react. The energy ball hit her full-on, knocking her backwards into the ground. She made one weak attempt to lift her head before passing out.

"Willow! Buffy!" Spike's head whipped around in shock at the familiar voice. _No, it can't be_, he told himself. _She would never … Buffy had to have been smarter than that to bring her here_. His heart dropped when he caught sight of Dawn, stake in one hand as her liquid blue eyes gazed at him incredulously.

"Well, look what we have here," Elton said, smiling slowly. "You're just in time, sweetheart."


	16. Duplicitous Deeds

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE – graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 16: Duplicitous Deeds**

Something pushed at the back of her mind almost painfully, and she was left with the realization that there was something very important that she'd forgotten to do. That's strange. Usually she was so good at remembering. She closed her eyes, willing the memory to come back to her, as if sheer determination would close the gap between the lost thought and her mind. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and shook her head, a wry smile touching her lips. Stupid, she thought. You never remember anything when you're actually trying to. No, she'd just have to sit back and wait for it to come to her.

Odd, she thought as her bare feet padded over the chilly cobblestone walkway. Just a few seconds ago she had been out in the garden. The morning fog wisped around her ankles like ghastly fingers as she spread her arms to feel the blossoming lilacs brush against her fingertips. They had grown so tall now. She turned, and for one instant, she thought she saw the figure of a tall brunette girl standing next to her, eyes pleading. But upon closer inspection, the girl was revealed to be a simple willow tree, branches swaying in the wind like long hair.

She wrapped her arms around her chest as the wind picked up, and a dark apprehensive feeling suffused her entire being. She looked up at the sky and was shocked to see the turbulent clouds rolling over each other, bright blasts of light sparking intermittently through them. Lightning. She furrowed her brow. But she had never even heard the thunder …

A girl's scream brought her eyes crashing down, and she whirled around in confusion as she encountered nothing but blackness. She ran her hand through her hair nervously, her fingers catching on something warm and sticky at the tips. She brought her hand out in front of her, her eyes widening as she identified the substance even through the thick black of nothingness that surrounded her. Blood. But, that can't be. No one ever bleeds here.

She didn't know what propelled her to touch her neck, but suddenly she found herself tentatively feeling for the puncture marks that she inexplicably knew would be there. She screamed when she encountered them, throwing her head back to direct her anger at the heavens. But the scream died on her lips as she began to register the small circle of yellow light in the distance above her …

* * *

"Bit." The endearment tumbled from Spike's lips softly, shock written plainly across his face.

Giles was the first to move. His brain refused to acknowledge his broken slayer crumpled on the floor across the way, instead focusing on the wayward girl that had predictably appeared at the worst possible time. He bolted towards Dawn at a seemingly impossible speed given his current condition only to stop short when a small figure stepped in front of him. Anger gave way to relief as he recognized the woman standing in front of him. "Anya," he breathed. "Thank God, you're alright."

Anya remained silent, an eerie smile forming on her lips, and Giles was suddenly certain that this was most definitely, NOT Anya. Xander took a step forward. "Anya?" He looked at her quizzically, hope pooling into his wide brown eyes.

Elton sneered at them. "Oh, that's not Anya. Are you, baby?"

Xander watched in horror as Anya shook her head and proceeded to morph into demon visage. The smooth ivory of her skin deteriorated into a ruddy cavernous mess of veins and raw flesh, and her eyes glowed red from underneath. Her smile stretched across the expanse of exposed muscle, and a cold shiver ran up Xander's spine. "No," he muttered weakly, his eyes closing to the monster that had once been the woman he loved standing before him in her demonic glory.

Dawn's eyes widened, her baby blues losing the last remaining innocence that had been slowly dissipating ever since years of mystical keys, vampire slaying, and apocalypses had become a permanent fixture in her life. She stood frozen in shock, a soft "oh" falling from her lips as she felt her knees begin to weaken.

Xander took a tentative step forward. "You can fight it, Anya. You don't have to do this."

Anya's laugh was bitter. "Yeah. You would say that, Xander. Always the optimist, right?"

Giles held up his hand as Xander tried to approach Anya. "Xander, stay away from her. She's not …" He trailed off, shaking his head sadly.

Xander looked up at Giles, desperation rolling off of him in waves. "Giles, I know I can get through to her. If I just …"

"Damn it, Xander!" Xander jumped at Giles' forcefulness. "You've been fighting with us for six years. You _know_ when it's too late."

Xander shook his head. "No. No. It's _Anya_, Giles. I know there's still a part of her inside that … thing." He flicked his wrist toward Anya. "There has to be."

Anya cocked her head to the side. "You think so, sweetie?" She shrugged. "Well, whatever gets you through the night, I guess. Let me ask you something, though." She leaned in conspiratorially before she continued, lowering her voice to a dark whisper. "Will you still maintain your righteous 'love conquers all' act when I tear all your limbs off and hand them back to you?"

Giles saw the younger man waver and immediately sprang to action, brandishing the knife Tara had used to cut his ropes. Anya had predicted his movement, as she had spotted the dagger the moment she had stepped in front to him. She effortlessly twisted his arm behind his back and crushed his wrist. Giles yelped in pain as the dagger dropped uselessly to the floor.

"Nice try," she spat as she tossed him through the air. He landed a few feet from Dawn, letting out an "oomph" as the air whooshed out of his lungs. "Good God, girl," he gasped as Dawn helped him up. "Get the bloody hell out of here. Haven't you noticed that we're in the midst of battle here?"

Dawn tossed her hair behind her shoulder. "I'm not leaving. If you guys are going to die tonight, then I will too." A slight smile fluttered across Giles' lips as he took in the girl's chin jutting out determinedly. _So like her sister …_

"And that you will, little girl," Elton said, eyes grazing over the fearless teen standing before him. Giles stood in front of Dawn protectively as Elton casually advanced on them.

Tara watched the scene unfolding before her with growing alarm, mentally ticking off the spells she could use to buy Dawn and Giles some time. Before she could decide on one, she was propelled backwards, burning light slicing though her. She raised her head slowly to see Anya blowing cavalierly on the tips of her fingers. "Like that, witch?" she asked glibly. "Lightning. It's one of nature's most wonderful creations, don't you think? Fortunately, Elton saw fit to imbue me with its power." She smiled lazily and stretched. "I think I could get used to this."

Xander found himself rushing toward Anya, arms flying at her face, as if he could claw the demon out of her. She was caught unaware, thrown to the ground with the force of his fists, until she overcame her surprise and swatted him off like he were a fly. She scowled, kicking his prone form with one high-heeled foot for good measure. He groaned in pain, crab-walking backwards as she advanced on him mercilessly. "What the hell were you thinking?" she hissed. "You're nothing, Xander. No powers, no abilities. You're not fit to lick my shoes. What the hell made you think you could even touch me?"

A flash of light, and Anya found herself sprawled on the ground. She looked around wildly until her eyes fell on Tara, resplendent and resolute, as she glared at Anya with eyes that spoke of power. "You're not the only one that can call on nature," she ground out, her voice uncharacteristically firm. She chewed on her lower lip, for a moment betraying her audacious-girl façade, but then raised her chin defiantly and quickly added, "Bitch."

An amused smile spread over Anya's face. "Oh, that's right," she said patronizingly as she stood up. "White magic and forces of nature. I almost forgot." She made a show of brushing off her jeans. "Well? What are you waiting for? Enlighten me. Get it? Enlighten … like the lightning?"

Tara took a deep breath and plastered on the suit of confidence she wasn't quite sure she owned. "You asked for it."

Spike tore his eyes from Anya and Tara's lightning show and gazed down at the figure he held in his arms. He leaned his head down, lips barely brushing against her ear. "Come on, Buffy," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." His voice caught, and he let out a shuddering breath. "I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't. You have to come back to us now, though. Your sis …" he trailed off as he suddenly remembered Dawn. "Oh, God," he breathed as he spotted Elton almost upon Giles. He shook his head. "That's it," he said as he gently laid Buffy down and got to his fee. "Bastard's gone too far."

He sprinted towards Dawn, and was unexpectedly slammed with the memory of another night, racing up a teetering stairwell constructed by crazies. He remembered Dawn's eyes, hopelessly wide and unbelieving as the soft-spoken demon poised to toss him over the edge. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself harder, coming upon Elton just as he shoved Giles to the side effortlessly. Elton looked up in surprise as the blond vampire skidded to a halt in front of him, arching an eyebrow as Spike pushed Dawn farther behind him.

"What's this now?"

"Simple," Spike said, glancing back at Dawn before returning unflinchingly back to Elton. "You don't. Touch. The girl," he growled.

Elton shook his head. "In case you haven't noticed, I make the decisions around here."

Spike raised himself to his full height which, although was not staggeringly tall, left him towering over Elton. "Dawn's done nothing. Leave her be."

Elton opened his mouth to say something but stopped when his eyes locked with Spike's. Mild irritation turned to mock regret as he smiled understandingly. "Well, it seems I didn't get the chip out in time after all," he said.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "What the hell does the bloody chip have to do with-"

"It must have already done the damage beforehand," Elton continued, ignoring him. "Pity. You had potential."

"Damage? What the hell are you talking about?" Spike's tone was bordering on petulant.

Elton cocked his head to the side. "You don't really believe that you feel these things for these humans on your own, do you? You know the chip was responsible for that, right?" He grinned.

Spike furrowed his brow as confusion settled in. _The chip? No, it couldn't be. Not after everything . . ._ He looked away from Elton, unable to see his gloating smile, unable to allow him to see the way his words had affected him. After a few moments, he closed his eyes, and shook his head.

Elton misunderstood his actions for defeat. "Whatever you feel is left-over. It will all be gone soon. Come now." He reached out a hand to Spike. "We'll eviscerate the girl together. The last link to that crap excuse for technology that they shoved in your brain."

Spike slid his eyes up to Elton's, and Elton took a step back in surprise when he saw the hatred burning in them. "I don't think so, mate," he spat. "I've had enough of your mind-fucks to last me … well, longer than you're going to last, I reckon."

Elton stared at him for a moment, inscrutable eyes boring into his own. "Well, then," he said at length. "If that's the way you really feel, then …" Dawn gasped as Elton backhanded Spike and sent him sprawling across the ground. He turned back to her swiftly, dark eyes glittering with excitement as she took a few fearful steps backwards. "Nowhere to run, girly," he said slowly, edging closer. "No one's going to save your pretty little hide now." He smiled, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek, as she whimpered and turned her face away.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that exactly."

Elton whirled around, encountering a sharp jab to his jaw that sent him sailing through the air and crashing to the ground. He recovered quickly, scowling belligerently as he sprung to his feet with supernatural ease. "You," he groused as his eyes fell on the petite blond owner of the fist that had assaulted him. "Should have known." His eyes flitted over to Spike, who was just now rising to his feet. "Well now, vampire," he said with mock amiability. "Looks like that point goes to you."

Spike laughed dryly. "Oh, I think that's worth a couple of points, mate."

Buffy glanced at Spike only to look away uncomfortably when his eyes met hers. She shook her head as if to clear it and directed her attention to Elton. "What say we make this quick," she said, her voice deceptively calm. "I'm tired of games."

A slow smile stretched across Elton's face as he morphed into demon visage. "As you wish. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Spike watched as Elton lunged at Buffy, fists flying fiercely as Buffy deftly blocked and countered. But the blood loss quickly took a toll on her, and her reflexes began to slow, her moves purely defensive. Elton had her backed up to the wall within seconds, a malicious grin curled into his demonic features as he barreled into her with his fists, merciless and unrelenting. Before Spike could fully register the shift in power, Elton had Buffy's chin between his two hands, his knee holding her body against the wall as her fingers clawed ineffectually at his arms. "No!" he screamed, taking off at lightning speed for them, even as a voice in the back of his mind traitorously that he was already too late.

The air crackled around him, and in an instant, Elton was thrown away from Buffy and hurled across the room. Buffy looked up in shock to find Willow half-standing a few feet away, drawing in deep gulping mouthfuls of air. She winced as she pulled herself up to her full height and sent Buffy a shaky smile. Buffy returned it and put her hands on her hips. "Better late than never, I guess," she teased.

"Hey," Willow said with mock indignity. "I did have that tiny problem with unconsciousness, you know. And besides," she said, shifting her gaze to regard Spike coldly. "I thought you were dead." She shook her head when Spike dropped his eyes shamefully to the ground.

Andrew took in the sight before him, eyes jumping from the face-off between Anya and Tara that was in full swing, to Xander and Giles slowly making their way over to Willow, Buffy, and Spike, and finally to the crumpled form of Elton. _It's now or never_, he thought, nervously bringing the wooden flute to his lips.

A strong arm gripped him by the shoulder, squeezing almost painfully hard. "Just what do you think you're doing?" The rough voice of the Trangor demon was unmistakable.

Andrew did his best at appearing innocent. "Uh … nothing. It's just … Elton looks like he needs help. So I was just going to call on some … Meleznic demons. You know. To help." He plastered on what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile.

The Trangor regarded him coolly for a moment, red eyes boring into his own. After a few moments, the Trangor shrugged and settled back into the background. "Very well. Carry on."

Andrew breathed a sigh of relief and quickly glanced back at his surroundings. Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander and Giles had gathered together now, eying Spike wearily as he stood off to the side. But a movement from Elton brought with it blind panic, and Andrew ineptly dropped his flute. _Shit_, he thought, bending down to retrieve it. _No time. Gotta do this now_. He quickly brought the flute to his lips again and expeditiously played the short melody that he knew would bring Elton his destruction. When the melody was finished, he brought the wooden flute crashing over his knee, wincing as the hard wood snapped painfully against him. He had a few moments to admire the blue portal that opened before he snapped back to reality and darted towards the nearest exit.

Spike grabbed Andrew by his shirt before he could reach his destination and roughly hauled him around to face him. "And just where do you think you're going?" Spike nodded to the blue portal that was getting larger by the second. "What? You figure you'll just open up some portal that lets God knows what come out to kill us all while you just hightail it out of here? Not bloody likely," he scoffed.

Andrew's eyes widened as a dark shadow eclipsed the incandescent blue light of the portal. Spike turned slightly, catching sight of the large figure looming in the portal opening. He squinted, noting the grayish color of the figure's skin, the bull-like horns protruding from just about every body part, the Herculean build that commanded attention. He alternated his gaze between Andrew and the demon, raising his scarred eyebrow questioningly. "You called the wrong ones," he breathed as realization settled in and the demon took a step out of the portal. "Those aren't Meleznic demons."

"No," Andrew admitted. "They're not." He took a step away from Spike when he felt the vampire's hold weaken. "They're something better."

Spike had a moment to make out the army of demons arising within the portal before the first demon locked eyes with him and attacked. The others soon followed, pouring into the old high school library at an alarming rate, a seemingly endless blur of gray trodding brashly through, eyes glittering as they surveyed the area.

Buffy stepped in front of Dawn, shielding her from the army of demons as she prepared to defend herself. But the demons made no move to fight, brazenly ignoring her as they marched through the room. "What the-?"

Elton furrowed his brow as he climbed to his feet, sighing exasperatedly as a hoard of demons slowly approached him. "It's about time," he snapped. "Now get that little blond bitch over there and-" Elton's order was cut short by a large demon fist to the jaw. He staggered back from the impact, rubbing his jaw as he stared at the advancing demons open-mouthed. "You're supposed to do as I say, you blundering morons!" He swiftly backhanded the demon who'd struck him, sending him cart wheeling half-way across the room. The demon was only temporarily deterred, pulling himself to his feet and approaching Elton steadily. Elton wildly batted the demons away as they moved to strike.

Buffy whirled around, arms raised, as she felt the light tap on her shoulder. She dropped her arms in relief when she recognized Tara, but furrowed her brow as she noticed the burn marks covering the wicca's skin on her arms and face. Tara caught her look and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay. Really. I'm fine."

"And Anya?" Buffy turned to see for herself before Tara could answer. Anya was apparently holding her own against a dozen of the strange gray demons, zapping them away as they came at her.

Tara shrugged. "She kind of lost interest in me once they started attacking her." She arched an eyebrow. "Any clue as to why they're not attacking _us_?"

Buffy opened her mouth to provide her with an answer but closed it once she realized she had none. She turned to Giles in question, but her all-business attitude melted when she took in his battered condition. Fresh tears of relief sprung freely to her eyes as she enveloped him in an embrace. He returned it weakly, a blush creeping to his cheeks almost immediately at the uncommon display of affection. "Now, now," he said softly, kissing the top of her head in that fatherly way of his. He gently pushed her away. "There'll be time for that later."

Buffy haphazardly wiped at the moisture on her cheeks. "Of course, of course. I just … you know." Her eyes found Xander's, and suddenly he found himself the victim of a bear hug as well. "Oh sorry!" Buffy said, pulling away as he winced in pain.

Xander smiled lopsidedly. "Don't be. In fact, when I'm all healed up, maybe I can convince you to do it again," he teased.

Dawn turned away from the others and took a tentative step forward, eyes falling on the demons filtering through the portal as they segued into four distinct groups. Some chose to attack Spike right off, while others joined the fight against Elton. She watched as some broke off to face Anya, while still others began attacking a large hot pink demon that she hadn't noticed before now standing off in the background. "Weird," she breathed.

Buffy looked over at Dawn. "What's weird?"

"Well, it's just that all these crazy demon guys keep ignoring us and just want to fight Spike, that Elton guy, Anya, or that weird Pepto Bismol advertisement," she said, pointing to the pink demon. She shrugged. "Why them and not us?"

"We're human," Andrew said, his eyes shifting nervously as he awkwardly stepped into the circle. All eyes flew to his face, some not bothering to veil the contempt they felt towards him. He coughed and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "They're Trucidon demons from the Darivian dimension. Designed to eliminate impure blood. In a word, demons."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "But the Trucidons are demons. Isn't that, like, cannibalism?"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "They don't _eat_ their prey. Besides, Trucidon blood is essentially the same as human blood. They see us as equals." He glanced solicitously over at Elton, who, despite the considerable number he was fighting, had gained the upper hand. Andrew turned back to Buffy, eyes pleading. "We have to get out of here. Now. While there's still time. Those demons won't hold him forever."

Buffy shook her head. "Nah uh. Not until we get that little bomb thinga-ma-jig." She gestured to the tiny cube, still floating above the ruckus in its cocoon of blue light. She turned to Willow. "Can you get it out of there?"

Willow nodded. "I think so." She raised her arm up and smiled slightly as the blue light around the cube began to pulse. The smile quickly vanished when the light shattered, though, and the cube flew across the room.

Into Elton's waiting hand.

Elton and Willow locked eyes for a moment. "Thanks, witch," he sneered as he propelled about twenty Trucidons backwards with barely a flick of his wrist. "I'd almost forgotten."

Willow's eyes widened to cartoonish proportions. "I didn't-"

"Oh, yes, you did." Elton pointed to his head and tapped it twice. "Even if you didn't know it. One of the benefits of your somewhat personal invasion."

Buffy looked from Elton to Willow. "I'm confused, Will. What the hell just happened?"

It was then that Willow realized that Elton hadn't been speaking, at least not in the vocal sense. She closed her eyes as Elton's gloating laughter echoed inside her head. "I don't know," she whispered to Buffy.

Elton wasted no time in pulling Warren's severed finger out of his pocket. He glanced upwards, as if searching for something, and then looked back at the tiny cube in his hand. "Just in time," he muttered. He pressed the tip of the finger against one side of the cube.

A deafening squeal sounded from beneath the ground, like tires screeching on pavement by the thousands. Buffy put her hands over her ears to block out the sound, but it did little to help. Willow glanced around wildly. "He's done it!" she screamed, trying to be heard over the noise. "Buffy! We have to destroy the cube!"

Buffy nodded, springing past the barrage of Trucidons that peppered the way to Elton. He almost didn't see her coming, his mouth open as he stared in awe at the gaping hole of the Hellmouth. But as she swung at him, he caught her fist in his hand and began to crush. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out in pain, even as she felt her bones yield to the overwhelming pressure. "Buffy, is it?" Elton said almost conversationally. Buffy didn't answer, choosing instead to sweep her leg out, catching Elton behind the knees. His hold on her loosened as he fell to his knees, and she snatched her hand away, shaking it out.

"Clever girl," he chuckled as he got to his feet. "But I believe this is what you really want. " He held out the tiny cube, goading her. Buffy looked from the cube to Elton. "Come and get it," he said, daring her.

A well-timed attack from a few of the Trucidons gave Buffy the opening she needed. While Elton busied himself with batting the demons away, she kicked him in the midsection, sending him just a few feet away from the gaping hole of the Hellmouth. As he leapt to his feet, she was on him again, kicking and punching as she tried with all of the strength she had left to push him backwards. But she felt herself growing weaker by the second, and she couldn't generate enough force behind her punches to gain any headway. Elton pushed her backwards effortlessly, and smiled as she landed hard on her bottom.

"That all you got?" he said.

Buffy watched as his face froze in shock, a bolt of light propelling him backwards. He teetered on the edge of the hole that led to the bowels of the Hellmouth, windmilling his arms wildly. She jumped up and grabbed him by the wrist, twisting it so his palm would open, and grabbed the cube out of his hand before promptly pushing him into the Hellmouth. The cube dropped to the ground beside her, and her foot stamped down on it, crushing the tiny device.

The screeching noise coming from below began to die down, and Buffy turned to Willow. "Do I have to worry about him climbing back up?"

Willow closed her eyes, and furrowed her brow. When she opened her eyes again, a soft smile touched her lips. "No. He's gone. I don't feel him anymore. My guess is he's trapped between the dimensional walls or something. He couldn't have had enough time to journey to another dimension."

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Good." Her eyes traveled over to the blue portal that was still avidly leaking Trucidons. "Now what do we do about this?"

* * *

Spike tried to keep an eye on the others as he fought against the hulking demons that seemed to be in never-ending supply. He caught enough out of the corner of his eye to know that Buffy had thrown Elton into the Hellmouth. And he heard the death cry of the Trangor demon as the Trucidons proved more powerful. A more distant cry of agony reached his ears almost instantly afterwards. He couldn't see her, but he was almost positive it had been Anya.

After that, he didn't catch much of anything. The Trucidons flocked to him alone, overwhelming him in strength and numbers. As he fell to the ground under the repeated blows of the mob surrounding him, he thought he could hear arguing, Giles and Xander's voices raised in anger and Buffy's answering retort sounding somewhat shrill and defensive.

Buffy. _It's funny_, he thought as the pain began to fade to numbness. _Buffy's whipping boy to the very last._ His vision began to blur, and for a moment, he thought he saw Buffy's face hovering over his, could have sworn her hand was on his cheek.

But then the world faded to black.

* * *

Raised voices. And then silence. The steady thumping of a heartbeat. Silence once again. The same cycle, over and over. The heartbeat grew louder, pounding in his ears, and he felt his eardrums might shatter. Do eardrums shatter in hell?

He opened his eyes.

It took him a few moments to recognize the interior of his crypt; his eyes weren't working properly. He tried to sit up and was instantly paralyzed with pain. He fell onto his back, reflexively drawing in deep breaths and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to concentrate on something other than the pain. The smell of the burning wax candles, the sound of the leaves rustling in the trees outside of his crypt, the steady thrum of the heartbeat.

Wait a minute.

He opened his eyes, scanning his crypt for the owner of the heartbeat. It took him a few seconds, but he finally saw her, leaning against the crypt door with her arms crossed over her chest. The darkness hid her face from him, but he could see her eyes staring into him, watching him as he watched her.

"You shouldn't try to move," she finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice sounded odd to his ears, toneless and tinny.

He stared at her, unable to think of anything to say. At length, he asked, "What happened?"

Buffy held his gaze for a second longer, and then shrugged. "Andrew called these crazy demon-killing demons, broke the thing he called it with, and ran away while we were distracted with Elton. But Willow and Tara magicked the portal closed, so no big." She smiled wryly and her eyes clouded. "The world is safe once-again."

Spike absorbed her words, eyes fluttering closed as he flashed back to the last thing he remembered before blacking out. "That was you," he whispered.

"What?"

"I saw you. Before those demons almost killed me. I saw your face. I thought I was dead."

"Yeah, well," Buffy looked down at the ground. She turned to leave.

"Wait."

She stopped, her back still towards him. He tried to sit up again, and grunted through the pain. "Is everyone alright? Anya. Is she-?"

Buffy's shoulders slumped, and she took a deep breath. "She's going to be alright," she said, her voice low and even. "She's human again. I guess when that thing that made her died, so did the demon part of her. And everyone else is … recovering." She turned to face him, and he looked down, unable to meet her emotionless gaze. "Xander told me what you did. Or what you didn't do, I guess." She waited for him to respond, but he had nothing to say, for once. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think so," she said, bitterness lacing her words.

Spike shook his head. "What the bleeding hell do you want me to say? That I was wrong? That I'm sorry? I'm not. I don't know what would have happened if I had done things differently, but I do know that you're alive, and Dawn's alive, and your precious Scoobies even made it. And that's all that really matters, right?"

Buffy exhaled loudly. "Spike what you did was so incredibly stupid and selfish-"

"Selfish?"

"Yes, selfish! You didn't care whether Xander lived or died. You watched Elton torture him! You could have helped him, you could have freed Giles, somehow told us-"

"Don't be stupid," he snapped. "Elton would have killed them and me before we would have made it out the door. Not to mention the git was psychic-"

"Spike, I don't really care what you have to say at this point," she cut in.

Spike cocked his head to the side as his eyes drifted up to meet hers. "Then why are you here?"

Buffy stared at him, clenching her fists at her sides as her eyes darkened with anger. But a incredulous smile touched her lips, and she shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "Exactly," she said, turning to leave once again. "Exactly."

Spike was left staring at the door as it slammed behind her, the metallic clang echoing throughout the crypt the only evidence that she had even been there to begin with.


	17. Repercussions

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE – graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 17: Repercussions**

"Hey Buffy."

Buffy spared Dawn a brief glance before bending her head back down to the mountainous assortment of garments that was the Summers' laundry. "Hey Dawn," she mumbled as she held out a gray cashmere sweater sporting an unidentifiable greenish stain that covered most of the material. She wrinkled her nose and cocked her head to the side. "What do you think … salvageable?"

Dawn eyed the garment in question dubiously. "If by salvageable you mean ruined beyond hope, then, yes."

Buffy rolled her eyes and let the sweater drop to the floor. "You know, you could try helping me with this once in awhile instead of just offering sarcastic yet witty commentary from the sidelines."

Dawn crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I could, but Tide doesn't have wearcare instructions for demon goo. Besides," she said, tossing her hair behind one shoulder, "you're much better at that stuff than me."

"'That stuff'? Dawn, it's laundry. A five-year-old could do it." Buffy promptly picked up the gray sweater that she had previously discarded and tossed it over to Dawn, who caught it somewhat awkwardly at the last second. "There's Dryel on top of the washer."

"You've got to be joking." Dawn sniffed at the sweater and grimaced. "Buffy, just accept the fact that some things are beyond the help of us mere mortals. It's just a sweater. We can buy another one. We're not _that_ broke."

"That's not the point," Buffy said, shaking her head as her eyes slid down to stare at a spec of dirt on the floor. "We should … try, you know. At least … try. I mean, I know it's California, and we're not really in need of a … sweater, but if something's broken, you fix it. Right?" She fixed watery eyes on Dawn and repeated, "Right?"

Dawn stared at Buffy incredulously. "Are you high?" she asked at length.

Buffy sighed exasperatedly and climbed to her feet. "Never mind," she muttered. "I gotta go patrol. Tell Giles not to wait up, okay?"

"But what about your …"

The front door slammed behind Buffy's rapidly disappearing figure.

"… sweater."

* * *

Spike brought shaking hands to cup around the cigarette dangling from his lips as he flicked the igniter of the cheap plastic lighter. He inhaled deeply as the end caught the flame, pulled the smoke into his lungs and let it out slowly as something akin to relief washed over him. Nothing better than that first pull.

He felt the displacement in the musty crypt air a few moments later and immediately tensed. "Who's there?" he asked warily, trying to stamp out the small sliver of hope that lanced through him, the hope that it could be … no. She wouldn't be here. She hadn't come since that one night a few weeks back, and that hadn't gone well at all. "Who's there?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

Annoyance battled with anger as the familiar short man stepped into the light. Anger won. "You," he spat, eyes burning with loathing.

Whistler smirked knowingly and tipped his hat. "The one and only. Who'd you think it'd be?"

Spike sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "Do me a favor and just bugger off. I really don't have the time to kill you just yet."

"What's the matter, Spike? Not happy to see me? Don't know why. I mean, after everything-"

"After everything?" Spike took one last furious pull on the cigarette before flicking it across the crypt and rising to stand. "You pompous little pissant!" He crossed the room in two strides until he stood hovering over Whistler menacingly. "Everything I did meant nothing! You used me. For what, I still can't figure, but I get the distinct impression that it had something to do with bored immortal demons wanting some entertainment."

Whistler wrinkled his nose and stepped back a little nervously. "Entertainment? I hardly count _that_ as entertainment. More like a bad farce or something."

Spike's arm shot out to catch Whistler's throat in one fluid movement. "You think this is funny?" he snapped. "Sticking your nose in people's affairs and wiggling about, hoping to stir things up a bit and see where the chips fall?"

"Wow … with the idioms and everything," Whistler gasped, and Spike pushed him away angrily.

"Shut your hole!" Spike clenched his fists and, for a moment, Whistler braced himself for the punch he was sure was coming his way. But Spike deflated, taking a deep breath and smiling wryly. "It's my own fault, really," he said at length. "Shoulda known not to take up with the likes of you. Bloody stupid, that."

"Oh, come on, now," Whistler said, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. "We're not _that_ bad."

Spike raised an eyebrow, and for a brief moment, anger flickered in the depths of his eyes, but it was immediately replaced with something calmer, more knowing, something Whistler couldn't identify. "Not that bad," he parroted tonelessly. He tilted his head to the side. "Tell me one thing, demon boy. What was it you were hoping to accomplish? I mean, Elton's dead for sure, but what the hell did I have to do with any of it? In the end, I just stood around getting the piss beat out of me. Wouldn't even be here if not for…" He broke off and swallowed audibly. "I just don't understand you Powers types, is all. You take a guy that just wants to move on with his life, tell him that he's the key to saving the world or some such nonsense, and it turns out the only thing he was really instrumental in accomplishing was the complete destruction of what little of his own life he had left."

"You always talk in the third person like that?"

"Shut up."

"Okay." Whistler closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Just to clear the air here, why don't you tell me exactly when I told you that you were the one that would be saving the world in this scenario."

Spike wrinkled his brow. "Are you daft? You told me if I didn't help you, Buffy and Dawn would-"

"Die. Yes. I did tell you that." Whistler nodded in agreement. "And they would have. I won't go into details of how – it could have been something as simple as a car accident – but the point is, you coming back to Sunnydale with Elton changed things enough that that didn't happen." He leaned forward. "Every tiny decision we make has the potential to completely alter the future." Whistler caught Spike's look and rolled his eyes. "I know, I know," he said, holding up his hands. "A little trite, but true, nonetheless. Anyway, what you need to understand about redemption is-"

"Wait a minute. Back up there. I told you once before I want nothing to do with redemption."

Whistler tilted his head to the side and gave him an odd look. "Don't you?"

"No!" Spike snapped. "I don't care about any of that crap. You don't see me crying over the grave of my victims' past, blubbering on about how I'm going to right past wrongs, do you?"

"So … you don't feel guilty?"

"Of course not! I'm a vampire. S'what I was supposed to do."

"Then … you don't feel guilty over that nice little girl you drained last month."

That stopped him. Frustration faded to confusion, and Spike's jaw dropped open and closed again uncertainly. "That was different," he finally conceded.

Whistler shrugged. "Say what you like. I know the truth, and so do you. Like I said when I first met you, redemption's a funny thing. It's different for all of us. It's not about being the hero all the time or saving the day. That's your girl's gig. I wouldn't recommend it. It's not even about atoning for past sins. You, being a soulless creature, choosing to do right, regardless the reasons, is a miracle in itself."

"It doesn't matter," Spike said, shaking his head. "None of it matters anyway. I don't care about what happens next, where I'm going when I'm dust. Never have. I just want …"

"Her," Whistler supplied simply. A strange smile spread over his face as he caught Spike's eyes. "I know. But you will care about the rest. In time."

And then the confusion was back and Whistler waved his hand. "Just think about it. I gotta go."

"Hey! You can't leave! What the hell was that supposed to …"

But Whistler was already gone.

* * *

Willy stared at the entranceway of the bar in part disbelief, part annoyance, until the fear kicked in and eclipsed anything else. He watched as the tiny blonde strode purposefully toward him, her head high and jaw set determinedly, and his only coherent thought involved the sinking realization that his plastic surgeon was out of town. Great. Just great.

"Willy."

Even her delicate feminine voice made him jump. "Hey, I don't know nothing, Slayer," he began.

"Jim Beam. Bottle."

Willy blinked. "Come again?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Jim. Beam. Bottle," she repeated slowly.

"Really?" Willy narrowed his eyes. "Hey, you're not going to like, bash me over the head with it if I give it to you, are you?"

Buffy smiled wryly. "I might if you take any longer getting it."

"Right. Right."

Willy bent underneath the bar and all Buffy could hear was the clinking of glass against glass until the bottle was blessedly held out in front of her. "Thanks," she muttered, dropping into the bar stool and hastily unscrewing the white cap. Willy watched in amazement as she proceeded to guzzle the bottle, her throat working as she greedily swallowed the amber liquid.

"Jesus," he muttered.

Buffy ignored him and continued gulping until she felt her throat begin to protest. When she lowered the bottle, a quarter of it had disappeared. She eyed it, somewhat surprised, and looked at Willy. "You wouldn't happen to have another bottle under there, would you? 'Cause I don't think this one's gonna last."

Willy smiled amusedly. "So our resident Slayer's a drinker then?"

"Just tonight," she mumbled distractedly before taking a much more restrained swig from the bottle.

"Well, as long as you don't get sick all over the beer nuts, no problems here."

Buffy watched as he went to help a demon of unknown origin sitting at the end of the bar and settled into her stool. The effects of the alcohol were already hitting her, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the warmth and inevitable numbing that came with it.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting like that, eyes closed as she clutched the bottle between her two hands like a lifeline. It could have been ten minutes or an hour; she had no concept of time. Just the wonderful feeling that she was floating, far away from her body, far away from her life. So when the familiar voice that shrieked "Oh my God!" at what must have been ten bazillion decibels higher than humanly possible effectively sentenced her warm fuzzy floaty dream into the land of Never-To-Be-Found-Again, she was pissed. She took a perfunctory swig of the Jim Beam before swiveling around in her bar stool and plastering on her most sickeningly sweet smile. "Harmony!" she exclaimed in mock surprise. "Wow. It's so great to see you!"

Harmony laughed uncertainly and tossed her blond hair behind her shoulders. Buffy's eyes traveled over to her companion, a would-be-decent-looking vampire if he wasn't in game face, looking as if he only partly wanted to be there. She smiled mockingly. Some things never change.

"So," Harmony said, clearing her throat and glancing around nervously. "Whatcha doin?"

Buffy stared at her. "Learning to play the accordion," she said evenly.

"Oh, well, that's … that's just great, Buffy," Harmony rambled, and Buffy rolled her eyes. "I mean … the accordion. Wow." She smiled unsurely.

"Harmony, as much as I enjoy our little pretend reunions, why don't you save me the trouble from beating it out of you and tell me what you're up to?"

Harmony blinked a few times before furrowing her brow. "I'm not … up to anything. I swear. Just passing through." She dropped her eyes to her shoes and tried at nonchalant. "But as long as you're here, I was wondering if … maybe you'd … seen Spike?"

Buffy looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. "Of course. My life wouldn't be complete without …" She trailed off and took another swig from the bottle. The liquid slid down her throat easily now, creating a path of warmth from her chest to her belly. She swayed slightly in her seat as she tilted her chin down from the bottle, and frowned when she discovered that Harmony was still there. "Look, Harmony," she said carefully, trying not to slur. "It's not my job to keep tabs on Spike. If he's not at his crypt, then I don't know where he is. Try asking someone who actually cares."

Harmony's eyes flashed amber for a moment before she slammed her hand down on the bar. "You bitch! You don't even care about him at all, do you? He could be hurt, or … or … and you're just sitting here, acting all … Slayer-like!"

Buffy arched an eyebrow and regarded Harmony solemnly. "Harmony. You're ruining my buzz. Go. Away." She hiccoughed loudly.

Harmony's companion chose that moment to grow a brain. "Hey," he said, realization spreading a huge smile across his face. "You're the Slayer." Buffy flashed him the biggest "duh" look she could manage, and his smile only grew broader. "And you're all … drunk," he observed, taking a step closer.

"Your point?" she snapped, beginning to feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

The vampire cocked his head to the side. "Just saying you might not be at your best right now." He took another step closer. "I could kill you," he breathed.

Buffy laughed anxiously. "Yeah. Just you try. I'll be having you swept off the floor before you have time to even blink." In retrospect, Buffy thought that maybe, it hadn't been such a good idea to get drunk in a demon bar after all.

Harmony grabbed her newest boy toy's arm. "Just what do you think you're doing, Decon?" she hissed. "Are you crazy?"

Decon angrily pulled his arm away. "Me? Look at her, Harmony." His eyes wandered back over to Buffy, and his grin became feral. "Easy pickings."

Buffy stood up abruptly, her feet precariously finding the floor. "Hold on here. I am NOT …" She broke off, momentarily distracted by the group of six or so vampires that had been slowly creeping toward her, their eyes flashing with what Buffy quickly recognized as hunger. She looked around the bar for Willy, but he was predictably absent.

Decon took another step closer. "Hey Slayer. Any last words?"

"How typical."

Spike stepped between Buffy and Decon and eyed the latter critically. "'Any last words?'" he mimicked. "Can't you bloody idiots come up with something a little more imaginative?"

Decon regarded Spike guardedly. "What's it to you?" he asked slowly.

Spike shrugged noncommittally and casually glanced back at Buffy. She was doing that whole death glare thing that she was so good at, so he opted to return his attention to Decon. "Nothing, really. Except …" he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You know who I am?" He smiled humorlessly when Decon nodded. "Good. So no introductions needed then. I'm only going to say this once. Take Harmony and get the hell out of here. Before I'm forced to consider breaking Willy's little 'no violence' rule."

Buffy rolled her eyes and angrily pushed Spike out of the way. "Don't do me any favors, Spike," she spat. "I can take care of myself."

"Oh, right. Like last time." He smiled smugly, and Buffy deeply wanted to smack that smirk right off of his face. "Falling on your dainty little ass over what should have been an easy slay? Don't think I forgot about that. My boots seem to recall a bit of the Slayer's fine drinking abilities as well."

"Shut up."

"Gladly. Once they leave." He jerked his chin at Decon and Harmony.

"What's the matter, Spikey?" Harmony put a hand on his arm and gazed up at him through lowered lashes. "Not happy to see me?"

Spike sighed heavily and brought a hand up to his temple. "Harm …"

Harmony was non-plussed, sighing in that fluffy way of hers. "I was so worried. You left New York to go with that crazy Elton guy, and then I couldn't find you at the crypt …"

Spike glanced at Decon pointedly. "Harm, you've really got to stop this. Look, you're pissing off the latest poor sod."

Harmony barely glanced at the fuming vampire. "Like I care. He was just … a distraction." She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his ear softly. "Come with me," she whispered.

Buffy groaned and slid back into her stool. "I think I'm gonna be sick," she announced.

"Oh, shut it, Slayer," Spike said haltingly. "How many nauseating exchanges did I have to hear between you and Captain America? And you didn't see me tossing my cookies, did you?"

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes struggling to focus on one of the two, possibly three, Spikes that appeared before her. Someone cleared their throat, and she abandoned that task to turn toward the source. Squinting, she could see one of the vamps that had been off to the side before fade in and out of focus. "Excuse me," he said. "I was thinking we should get to the killing now."

Buffy swallowed, trying to force the ever-rising lump in her throat down. "Oh God," she moaned. "I'm gonna be sick. I'm gonna be sick."

Spike looked at her with growing horror. "Jesus. She wasn't kidding. Stand back people! She's going to blow!" Harmony had a moment to process what he was saying before she became the first victim. "Ew, ew, ew!" she shrieked, her arms flapping about her uselessly as she ran out of the bar.

Spike stared after her contemplatively and turned back to Buffy. "Well, that's one way to get rid of her, pet." Buffy looked up at him wearily before proceeding to empty the remaining contents of her stomach onto the floor. Decon and the rest of the vamps jumped back in disgust, most of them barely avoiding escape. Spike cocked his head to one side. "What say we get out of this dive, love." Buffy nodded gratefully as he collected her up in his arms and bid a hasty retreat through the back door. He didn't think any of them would bother following a retching Slayer, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution. Buffy was in no shape to fight, and he wasn't sure if he could take all of them at once.

Buffy leaned her head against Spike's chest as he ran down the deserted streets of Sunnydale. At first, the jostling from all the running he was doing made her feel even queasier, and she put her hand over her mouth, trying to keep what wanted to come out inside. But eventually, the feeling subsided, and she relaxed against him. The cool night air felt like heaven against her flushed skin, and she closed her eyes tiredly.

After a few blocks, she felt him slow to a jog, and pretty soon, a brisk walk. She nuzzled against him, until she realized what she was doing and promptly struggled against his hold on her. He resisted at first, strengthening his grip on her shoulders and legs, but then he seemed to think better and gently released her. She slid down his body with a yelp, wincing as the unforgiving pavement rushed up to meet her behind.

Spike merely looked down at her complaisantly and shrugged. "Thought you wanted down."

She glowered at him and stood up slowly. "Yeah, thanks for that."

"No problem. Least I could do for the lady who retched on my boots." He paused. "Again."

Buffy inwardly cringed, angry and embarrassed that he should have seen her so debilitated. But then the hilarity of the situation was suddenly clear to her. A few giggles soon erupted into full-blown laughter, and Spike was staring at her like she'd grown another head, which only made her laugh harder.

"Glad I could provide the town lush with her night's entertainment," he remarked mildly.

Buffy wiped at the tears in her eyes as she shook her head. "No, it's not that," she gasped. "It's just … the look on those vamps' faces … when I … and … oh God … Harmony!"

Spike scowled, but the smile he'd been harboring behind his annoyance snuck out nonetheless. "Yeah. You're a bloody riot. Don't know why I never thought to projectile vomit on my enemies before."

Buffy bent over, bracing her hands on her knees as her shoulders shook violently with laughter. But the laughter all-too-soon abated, the smile fading from her lips almost as quickly as it had appeared. She looked around confusedly, eyes seeking a familiar landmark and finding none. "Where are we?" she asked quietly.

"A few blocks behind the Magic Box. Didn't want to bring you all the way. Just in case …" he trailed off, but Buffy felt the meaning behind his silence. Just in case Xander and Anya were there.

She regarded him carefully, watched him shift nervously under the weight of her scrutiny and saw when his discomfort transitioned to mild annoyance. "What?" he demanded, his eyes briefly locking with hers before darting away, looking anywhere and everywhere but at her. She remained silent, eyes never leaving his face as he struggled to maintain a mask of nonchalance.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"Why what?"

This time, his eyes met hers and lingered a while longer, until she was forced to look away. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly before pinning them back on him. "Why Elton? Why the chip? I don't know. Why did you do everything that you … did?"

Her honest questioning unnerved him a little. She had always been so unwilling to examine the whys of his somewhat contradictory nature before, so he wasn't quite prepared to field the barrage of demanding inquiries she had launched upon him. He sucked in a deep breath. "Why else? To keep you safe."

She stared at him for awhile, and he could see her disbelieving frown before he amended. "Well, I was _told_ that it would keep you safe. However, I've recently been informed of what a giant git my source is."

"Spike," she said slowly, "you're making no sense. As usual. And I'm sobering up."

He gave her an odd look, as if he were trying to decide something, before fishing inside his duster pocket and pulling out a silver flask. He stared at it for a few moments, and then hesitantly held it out to her. "Here. But for the record, I really don't think this is a good idea."

She looked at the flask, contemplating his words, before giving a half shrug and taking it from him. "Yeah, well, I think I'll take my chances," she said, unscrewing the cap slowly and wrapping her lips around the top. Her throat burned as the liquid made its way down, and a tiny gasp escaped her.

Spike seemed content to wait her out, casually smoking the cigarette he had just lit as she swallowed a few more mouthfuls from the flask. And she hated the sight of him. Standing there as if nothing had happened, as if he had done no wrong. Neither expecting nor afraid of her wrath, which he _so_ deserved. He was unchipped. Dangerous and unpredictable. Like any other vamp walking the earth. Like any other vamp she wouldn't have hesitated to stake on sight. What the hell was wrong with her? Her duty came before anything else, and here she was …

Drinking. So she wouldn't have to finish the job.

She hated herself at that moment, conscious of her reasoning even as she brought the flask to her lips once more. People could die and she was stalling.

"Okay," she said slowly. She stared at the flask in her hand and shook her head. "Tell me what happened, Spike." She leveled her gaze with his and silently cursed herself for taking this route. It shouldn't matter what happened. The end result would be the same. "Tell me everything."

And he did. Slowly and quietly, he told her about leaving Sunnydale and going to New York, meeting Harmony and Elton, and about Whistler. He told her about the prediction of her and Dawn's death, Elton's numerous plans for world domination, what had happened to Warren. And then he told her of the other parts. The parts that for whatever reason, he found difficult admitting. Watching as the Puisie midgets tortured Xander, standing by while Anya was turned into a demon, and taking that girl as a victim. And all the while, she gazed at him unblinkingly. Inscrutable to the very core, that was his Slayer. He liked to think that he knew her, inside and out, and that he alone was privy to her innermost thoughts and feelings. But really, it was all just guesswork on his part. Or maybe it was just what he hoped her to feel. Wasn't sure which, and didn't really care. Everything he thought he knew about her was clouded in lust and pretense, and he wasn't really sure where he was supposed to go from there.

He watched as her hand unwittingly came up to rub at the scars on her neck, and he winced. "Guess you want an explanation for that," he said. Her hand froze as she realized what she was doing, and she dipped her head, staring at him through lowered lashes. "The thing of it is," he began, "Elton wanted me to turn you. Thought a turned Slayer would be a real asset to have on his team." He ducked his head. "And God, I wanted to," he whispered. "Wanted to so bad I could taste it. But you wouldn't be the same if I did. So I just … you know. For show. Thought you'd be able to get the jump on Elton, when he'd least expect it." He paused. "Didn't mean to take so much, though."

Buffy's uncharacteristic silence came to an abrupt end. "Yeah, I'm sure you feel real guilty about that," she spat. "Tell me, Spike. Tell me how much you didn't love finally getting a taste. Was your third Slayer all that you imagined?"

Spike looked at her incredulously. "Buffy-"

"And not to mention, what the hell did you think you were doing, trying to protect me?" She spun on her heel and pegged the flask at a nearby building. It ricocheted off with a resounding _thwack_. "I'm the Slayer, Spike! I'm the one whose job it is to protect. I've done it time and time again, every friggin day of my life since I was fifteen. It wasn't your call to make. There's evil? Fine. Pick up a damn phone and tell me about it, if you're so worried. Don't join up with said evil and proceed to almost kill my friends. God, I can't even begin to imagine what the hell possessed you to …" she broke off, and took a deep breath. "You don't get it, do you?" she said, casting dismal glances at him, at the ground. "When you joined up with Elton, regardless of your intentions, you made an enemy out of me." Spike stared at her, unaffected and completely still, as she pulled the sharpened piece of wood out from behind her back. _Ah, Mr. Pointy. How nice to see that you care_, he thought bitterly. _Wonder where the hell that that shitty excuse for kindling was back at Willys_. "You're unchipped," she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly, "and that means … well. You know what that means."

A short bark of laughter erupted from within him, and Buffy jumped. Of all the possible reactions, she hadn't expected him to _laugh_. But he quickly changed gears, his expression sweeping from incredulous amusement to cocky indignation. "You think you have it in you to kill me, Slayer? Fine." He sat back on the balls of his feet and glared at her. Challenging. "Give it your best shot. Others have tried, and we both know how that turned out." He took a step closer, eyes daring her as they burned with utter contempt. "I'm not your boy, Angel," he whispered harshly. "It's going to take a lot more than five minutes and a sword through the chest."

She inadvertently winced at the mention of Angel, and instead of the fulfillment he thought her discomfort would provide, he felt … uneasy, like something inside him was melting. He had always pushed the verbal jarring to the limit with her, provoking the pain from her so close to the surface until she broke, usually resulting in a severe kicking of his ass, or the _other_, more gratifying pastime. For Spike, driving her to the brink of emotional distress was just part of the way he loved her. And now, for some inexplicable, infuriating reason, it only left a bad taste in his mouth. He watched as she took a deep breath, drawing the chilly night air into her lungs, saw her lips go taut. God, how he wanted to reach out to her, take her in his arms, tell her he took it back, he took it all back. But before he could move, she lifted her eyes to his, and they struck him dumb. Oh, he knew that look. And he knew it well.

"Well, I've got some time," she said coldly, fingers clenching and unclenching around the stake. She smiled humorlessly. "And I'm thinking I won't even need the sword this time."

He didn't respond, just stared at her quietly as she tossed her hair over one shoulder. She was waiting for something, for him, probably, to make the first move. But all he could do was stare at her. The slight and girlish curve of her hips, the small, yet firm swell of her breasts, her sharp determined jaw. Her eyes. God, how he loved her eyes. Windows to the soul, indeed. Her eyes could change from earthy green to sparkling emerald with the slightest shift in mood. She could burn him with one glance, such was the power she had over him. And now she stood, staring at him with a contempt that he wasn't sure even Angelus had been able to bring out from her, intent on killing him.

And he was going to let her.

He smiled wryly at her, took a step back, and spread his arms from side to side. "Change of plans, love. Kill me, if that's what you think you need to do. It won't help, but if that's … I won't fight."

Buffy's staking arm wavered. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Spike shrugged. "Seems like the only thing left, you know? I mean, we've done everything else, right? Next step in the relationship." He paused and looked upwards, as if searching for the words. When he found them, his voice was wistful. "Guess I always knew this was how it was going to end. Knew it the first time you kissed me. Knew it the first time we made love. I could see it, in the back of my mind. I'd do something, something a little stupid, and you'd whip out a stake, much like you just did, and it would all be over. Every touch. Every smile. Every … day. I'd be gone, and you'd be gone, and there'd be … nothing." He leveled his gaze with hers. "It could never be anyone but you. Only you. And, no matter what happens, know that I did what I did because I love you."

Buffy abruptly pulled her arm back and let it fly, connecting with his jaw. "Stop it!" she yelled, her voice a trifle higher than average. "You don't get to play the martyr, Spike. And saying 'I love you' isn't going to change my mind. Been there, done that, remember? I'm not stupid." She hauled him up by his coat. "Now, stop being a coward and fight me."

"Not going to fight you. Already told you that," he said through gritted teeth.

Buffy pulled back her arm again and punched him, sending him flying half a dozen feet backwards. "I said, fight back!" She ran over to where he lay and straddled him, hands pulling at the lapels of his leather coat. "God damn it, Spike! Fight!"

"I already have!" he yelled, roughly pushing her off of him and springing to his feet. "I've tried everything, Buffy! Gone against my fucking nature for you! Gave up everything that ever meant anything to me, and for what? I spent all this time changing myself when it turns out you're the one that needs to change." He glared at her as she stared up at him incredulously. "Yeah, I cocked up. I admit it. Shouldn't have kept what I was doing from you. But I'm _trying_. You should at least give me the fucking benefit of doubt before you decide on the dusty ending."

"And what? Wait for some innocent person to die before killing you? Giving a murderer the benefit of doubt is too high a risk."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "S'that so? Then why didn't you do away with me before? When I was getting the piss beat out of me by those damn demons? Better yet, why the hell did you save me in the first place?" She looked away uncertainly, and he sighed. "I haven't killed anyone," he said quietly. "But you probably already know that. I suspect you and the Watcher have been checking the police reports on a daily basis. And I won't promise that I'll always be good, because, frankly, the thought is borderline revolting." He looked at the ground rather than her reaction. "But I do promise to never hurt you. Or Dawn." He kicked at a pebble. "Or … anyone."

"You can't make a promise like that."

Her quiet words startled him, and he looked up at her questioningly. She sighed softly, rubbing the back of her palm against her eyes before leveling her gaze with his. "You already hurt me," she admitted. "That night, when you first came back to town … we were … together, and for the first time in so long I felt …" she trailed off, shaking her head as she turned away from him. "But you were just … you know, Elton … and I …"

Spike felt like he'd been punched in the gut as realization took hold, and the need to rectify the situation overwhelmed him. He tentatively took a step towards her, closing the distance between them and laying a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him, stubbornly knuckling at the wetness shining in her eyes before he could see. He grabbed her wrist as she tried to hide her face from him, and gazed down at her solemnly. "No," he breathed, shaking his head. "I wasn't pretending that night. The next day, yes." He haphazardly brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, and she closed her eyes. "I screwed up, Buffy. I was supposed to stay away … but, I couldn't."

And then lost, watery eyes met his, and his heart broke a little bit more. He saw her back on that fateful day in his crypt, telling him she couldn't love him. There was that same inability to understand herself or him or _them_, but the conviction she had carried with her that day, that she was wrong and they were wrong, was patently absent. All this time, he had thought that the barriers that lay between them were constructed with a genuine inability, on her part, to comprehend her feelings. But now, seeing her, feeling her, practically trembling under his gaze, he knew better. She was afraid.

A tiny sigh escaped her lips, and he lightly tipped her chin upwards. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, as they silently moved toward each other, stopping only when they were an inch apart. And then he was staring at her mouth and the way she nervously chewed on her lower lip, and the space between them grew marginally smaller.

She was the first to give in. Neck extending just far enough, so her lips brushed against his in the barest of kisses. And he was soon to follow, arms wrapping around her instinctively as he leaned in the rest of the way to deepen the kiss. And it was like coming home to her. His mouth on hers, his hands, trailing over her body, re-acquainting with all of her. She brought her hands up to either side of his face, drawing him closer, holding him.

He broke away for a moment, gasping softly and regarding her quizzically. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

She took a moment to take his hand in hers, stare at their interlocked fingers, before looking back up at him. "No," she replied honestly, smiling wryly. "But … when has that ever stopped me before?" She had a moment to register his own smile before his lips descended upon hers once again, and she closed her eyes.


	18. Trying

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE – graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

**Chapter 18: Trying**

He had never known her to be so soft. Her mouth was like cotton against his, brushing slowly and deliberately, as if savoring every second they touched. And suddenly it didn't matter that they were in an alley, pawing at each other next to a filthy dumpster that desperately needed to be picked up, the night chill biting harshly into them, because they didn't feel it. Nothing existed except her, and him, and the touch of her lips, the taste of her – his Slayer, come home to him at last. Or maybe for the first time.

Buffy's hand had snuck down, firm against his groin, and now he was teetering on the edge of insanity, wrought with a powerful desire to have her, possess her. His hands slid down to the insides of her thighs, paused for a moment, and roughly hauled her up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as her legs wrapped instinctively, tightly around his waist. _Just like old times, eh, Slayer?_ And he could feel her heat, feel her want, even through her clothes.

He turned his head slightly, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, and broke away from her as if her touch burned him. "Spike, what the hell?" she sputtered, until she looked over his shoulder, and froze.

Anya's brown bag of groceries dropped, unnoticed, to the ground as she clutched at her companion's arm. And all Xander could do was stare in disbelieving shock.

* * *

"Did she say where she was going?" Giles lifted the lid off the pot of boiling water and tossed in the contents of the small cardboard box of pasta.

Dawn shook her head as she continued her massacre on the tomatoes that had the misfortune of being a part of the night's dinner salad. "No. Just that she was going to patrol. I don't think she's going to be back until late." She paused in her chopping to examine the knife she held in her hand. "Does that mean I can have her spaghetti?"

Giles sighed and dropped tiredly in the chair across from Dawn. "I just hope she doesn't …" he trailed off, and removed his glasses.

Dawn eyed him thoughtfully. "What? See Spike?" she supplied.

For a moment, Giles pinned her with that _look_, the one that usually meant 'you are far too young to think about these things, let alone have a conversation about them, now go back to your N'Sync and Barbie dream car.' Yeah. She just _loved_ that look. She was on the verge of an eye-roll when Giles sighed and placed his glasses on the table. "I suppose she doesn't talk to you about what she's planning on doing with him."

"Do with him? You mean …?" Dawn plopped down in the chair and dropped the knife on the table. "She's going to … to kill him?"

Giles shrugged. "I haven't been able to get a straight answer from her. Every time I open it up for discussion, she makes up some excuse – something that has to be done at that exact moment." He smiled slightly. "Last night, it was a hypo-glycemic attack, and she needed to find something with sugar. Only, she said 'hypo-guy-cement'."

Dawn bowed her head and stared at a tomato seed that had landed on the floor. "Do you think that he should be killed?" she asked quietly, peeking up at him through lowered lashes.

Giles shook his head slowly. "I honestly … don't know. I believe something should be done. He is, after all, unchipped, and a danger to everyone around him. But, somehow, it feels wrong to stake him. He was, in his own twisted way, trying to do what he felt was right." He sighed heavily, and Dawn briefly wondered if sighing was a necessity when talking about Spike. "I don't know," he repeated. "Technically, Buffy no longer works for the Council, and it should be her decision. But after what happened with Angel …"

"You're not sure she can do it." Dawn's eyes met his briefly before flitting away. She picked at a piece of lint on her sweater.

Giles grimaced. "No. I know she can do it. She's one of the most remarkable people I've ever had the fortune to meet, and I know that she will do what needs to be done. I'm just not sure whether she knows what that is."

"Yeah. I'm getting that vibe big time." She suddenly brightened. "But, hey, no one's been killed lately, right? So maybe he doesn't need to be killed anyway. Maybe he doesn't want to go back to his old ways."

Giles smiled sadly and regarded her lovingly. "My dear girl. Always so optimistic." He stood up abruptly and went to check on the spaghetti. "Unfortunately, we have a duty to protect this world from potential evil. And I don't know how much those monks planted in your memories of the time when Spike first came to town, but make no mistake – he was evil. No remorse for his victims. He actually delighted in their demise. There's no way of telling if this decidedly unorthodox _non_-killing spree is just a phase or if he intends to maintain it. And even if he intends on it, he might not be able to."

"There's way too many 'if's in there." Dawn furrowed her brow. "So then how do we know what's right?"

Giles regarded her thoughtfully. "I suppose it's a matter of trust. And I'm not entirely sure that Spike has that."

* * *

Tara stood in the doorway of her and Willow's old room, hand poised over the dark wood veneer, when the door flew open before her. She smiled nervously as Willow stared at her hopefully, russet brow arched in anticipation. "I just … I mean … Dawn and Giles are almost finished with dinner," she said quickly. "They wanted me to tell you. A-and … I'm staying. For dinner. If that's all right with you."

A tentative smile spread slowly over Willow's face. "Of course, it's all right." She paused before adding quietly, "I haven't seen you since-"

"Elton," Tara supplied, nodding. "I know. I just needed … I needed some time."

Willow nodded once in understanding as her smile slowly drained. "Um … listen, do you want to come in? Because I think we need to-"

"Yes," Tara said quickly, stepping past Willow into the room. Willow shut the door behind her and sat on the edge of her bed.

"I've been doing some thinking," Tara started, pacing nervously in front of Willow, "about us." She stopped in her tracks and glanced at Willow. "You lied to me."

Willow's face fell and she ducked her head. "I know. I'm sorry. I just thought-"

"No. It's okay." Tara smiled faintly and sat down next to Willow. "I just … needed you to know that that hurt me. Because you didn't feel you could be honest about the magic." She sighed softly. "And part of that is my fault, I think."

Willow's head shot up. "What?"

Tara blew out a breath. "It's just, I've always been so down on you using magic, when it turns out the real problem had nothing to do with magic." She looked away uncomfortably. "I think, for you, it was about the power. I mean, you brought someone back from the dead, Willow. That's gotta feel pretty great. And then all of these little things started going wrong, so you think – 'hey, if I can bring Buffy back, than I can definitely fix this.' Only, you couldn't, and everything got worse."

Willy tentatively grasped Tara's hand in hers. "I know. And I'm sorry. But I'm still missing the part where this is your fault."

Tara looked up at her soberly. "Don't you see, Willow? If I had realized that sooner, then maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad."

Willow pulled Tara into her arms and hugged her fiercely. "Baby, it's not your job to fix me, just like it's not my job to fix everything with magic." She tipped Tara's chin up to look her in the eyes. "I know that now. I … understand _me_ more, and I … I know I can control myself."

Tara pulled away slightly, her eyes glancing down at the floor warily. "So … you're still using magic?"

Willow ducked her head and nodded. "Yeah. Just for Slaying business, though. I swear." She looked up at Tara, eyes pleading for understanding.

Tara met her gaze squarely and smiled softly. "I trust you, Willow. I guess that's what I came here to tell you. That I love you, a-and I trust you to know what you're doing."

Willow couldn't stop the smile from spreading. She smiled so wide she thought her face would crack, and even more so when Tara started blushing. She opened her mouth to say something when –

"Guys! Dinner! And don't make me send Giles up there, because, well, he might just be too old to handle that!"

An indignant "hey!" abruptly followed, and they giggled like teenagers even as they reluctantly pulled away from each other. "I guess we should get down there," Tara said, pointing to the door. "A hungry Dawn is-"

"-not someone we want to mess with. I know." Willow smiled and nodded at the door. "You go down. I just have to wash up." She followed Tara as she opened the door, resting her hand against the frame. Tara sent her one last small smile before making her way down the hallway and disappearing down the stairwell.

Willow leaned her forehead against the wall, for the first time in a long while feeling positively giddy. Happy. A feeling she had thought to be long lost to her. At once restored to her through a few smiles, kind words, and the promise of a future by the girl she loved. And something more. Tara's faith only helped to secure her own in herself, and she wasn't going to mess things up this time. Magic was the farthest thing from her mind, and everything was going to be okay again. Better, even. She was going to show Tara that she hadn't made a mistake in trusting her again, that she deserved someone that could love her the right way. And Willow was determined to be that someone. And it would be like the beginning again, butterfly kisses and long talks, secret nights on the roof, staring at the stars, and then …

And then Willow went away.

The door shut before her of its own accord, and her bright eyes smoldered to an inky black. She walked over to her bedside table and mechanically rooted out several items, placing them neatly on the floor beside her. A plastic baggie filled with sparkling green powder, half a dozen trinkets of various shapes and sizes, and a hunter's knife. She snapped the drawer shut with a thrust of her hips and picked up the plastic baggie. She began to chant softly as she emptied its contents around her in a fluid semi-circle. Then she picked up the hunter's knife, grit her teeth in anticipation.

The emerald green powder began to glow …

* * *

Buffy took another step away from Spike and tentatively approached Xander. He had yet to move, feet still firmly rooted in place as he glared at Spike hatefully. Buffy opened her mouth to speak when he turned his gaze to her, and she flinched as she became the subject of that look: hurt, betrayal, and _anger_, all swimming aggressively in the pools of confusion that were his eyes. Never before had she seen this amount of venom coming from her friend, the man she had frequently come to think of as the heart of their tightly-knit group.

It appeared "the heart" couldn't take any more.

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, staring straight at the ground, taking short, forceful breaths that never quite made it to his lungs. But when he looked back up at Buffy, his face was a mask of collected indifference, the slight strain to his smile and the sharpness of his eyes the only evidence to the contrary. "Sorry, sorry," he said, holding both his hands out in front of him. "Didn't mean to ruin the moment. I seem to have lost my manners. Buffy … wow. How _are_ you? What's … new?" His gaze wandered to Spike, and his smile immediately transitioned from strained to out-right forced. "And Spike. Huh. What can I say? _So_ nice to see you again."

Anya's grip on Xander's arm tightened considerably. "Xander-"

"You know," he continued, turning back to Buffy, "I was just telling Anya how great it is that we've all pulled back together as a group, despite the recent betrayals and secret-keeping. Tell me, Buffy," he said, rocking back on his heels, his tone deceptively light. Like they were discussing a movie. "Is it a gift or something? Because your knack for proving me wrong on an almost daily basis is astounding."

Buffy hedged forward and went to reach for him. "Xander-"

"How could you?" he hissed, jerking his arm away from Anya and closing the distance between himself and Buffy in record time. Buffy jerked her arm back, and she couldn't look at him. Not like this. Not when one of her best friends was looking at her with such contempt, such utter hatred, such shocked disappointment. He grabbed her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. "_No._ You don't get to do that. Not this time." He pulled on her arm roughly when she didn't respond. "We're a little old to pretend it all away, don't you think?"

"You don't touch her." Spike's tone was only slightly proprietary as he stood next to Buffy, his gaze sliding over Xander with all the warmth of an Arctic snowstorm.

Xander barked out a laugh. "Oh, that's rich coming from you." He glared at Spike for a moment before glancing down at his hand, his fingers curled around the fabric of Buffy's shirt, tight and cruel. Something flickered in his eyes, sharp and shameful as he gently drew away from her and hastily ran his fingers through his hair.

Anya stepped forward hesitantly, eyes roaming over first Spike, then Buffy, before coming to rest on Xander. "Xander." Her voice was soft, pleading but restrained, so _not-Anya_ that it caught Spike's attention. He watched her contemplatively, head tilted to the side, as she lightly touched his cheek, sad eyes locking determinedly onto Xander's, forcing him to come back to himself. And Spike saw when Xander responded, saw the emotions play over his face. First a wave of trembling frustration shook his entire frame, which eventually subsided to reveal the face of a man completely disenchanted. Then anger once again, bright and potent in his eyes as they came to settle on Spike. But another soft imploration from Anya, and Xander came to settle on begrudging acquiescence, taking one of Anya's hands in his own and giving it a quick reassuring squeeze before turning back to Buffy.

And Spike took that moment to notice Anya and Xander's fingers, intertwined in a way that left question as to where one ended and the other began.

He also took that moment to notice the unexpected stab of jealousy.

His gaze turned to Buffy, abruptly observing her eyes as they flitted from him to Xander with the practiced indifference served with a side of annoyance that he had come to recognize all too well. All that had been laid bare before him - that insecure frail slip of a girl that she had just been moments before, slightly tipsy and watery eyes and misgivings temporarily put to the side – gone now. Hardened into the creature of habit that she had always been where he was concerned. And showing no signs of ever changing.

"Xander … what this was … it was just-"

Spike could see the words on Xander's dubious lips, but he jumped in before the boy could put the air behind them.

"A mistake?"

Startled, Buffy looked up at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Flustered, she started to stammer. "No. I … I wasn't going to say that."

"But you were thinking it."

The truth of it slapped her across the face, and she winced. "No," she continued to deny. "It just … maybe it wasn't the best idea. Right now. I mean … we haven't even _talked_ about what hap-"

"Talked? _Talked!_" He stared at her incredulously, throwing his arms up in the air. "What did we just do for the past hour? Buffy, in case you haven't noticed, _talking_ isn't going to help. You have to get off your high horse and decide what the hell it is that you want. What you can live with. 'Cause I'm done changing for you, Summers. This is me." He opened his mouth as if to add something more, but thought better and closed it.

The silence stretched, awkward and deafening between them as Buffy stared dutifully at the ground in front of her. She could feel their eyes on her, _all_ of them, waiting for her to respond, give something of herself away to either side. And at that moment, she hated them. Hated them for making her always choose, always give something up. Making her always be the one to hurt, and to deal with her decisions alone. Killing Angel to save the world, sacrificing herself to save Dawn … and now … this. Which hurt almost as acutely as anything she had dealt with before. Because she felt the weight of Xander's expectations, as well as Spike's. Either way, she was going to lose someone completely.

It was only a matter of deciding which one.

* * *

"What was that?" Dawn remarked mildly, fork halfway to her mouth as she glanced up at the ceiling.

Tara shrugged, and her eyes wandered up as well. Her eyebrows knit in confusion. "I don't know. You know, Willow's been up there an awful long time. She said she was just going to wash her hands."

Dawn glanced at Giles and then back at Tara. "You guys didn't have a fight or anything, did you? 'Cause you didn't look upset, and you stayed for dinner and all."

Tara shook her head. "No, not at all. In fact …" she trailed off, and the resulting blush that burned her cheeks was answer enough. She stood up from the table hastily, and gestured to the stairs. "I'm just gonna go check, see if there's anything wrong, ok?"

Dawn grinned and shoved another forkful of spaghetti in her mouth. "Sure," she said around her food, eyes lowered mischievously. "You go … check on her."

Tara favored her with a stern look that only managed to look slightly serious before heading up the stairs, while Giles let out a suffering sigh. "Really, Dawn. Please be a little bit more discreet in your innuendos, if you will." He drained the rest of his glass of wine, muttering under his breath, "There's only so much detail that I'd care to know about."

Nonplussed, Dawn took a huge bite out of a piece of garlic bread. "Oh what'a you companing abow? You're justa appy abow em etting ack togeder a' I am." She finished swallowing and looked back up at Giles, who at the moment, was looking nothing less than mortified. "What?" she demanded.

"Joyce would be terribly disappointed to know that nothing of her lessons in manners has held steadfast. I think I've seen Cirago demons with better table manners."

Two incredulous eyes stared back at him. "How can you say that?" A pause as she furrowed her brow. "Haven't you seen Buffy eat?"

"Giles! I need you up here now!"

The panic in Tara's voice had Giles bolting upright, nearly upending the bottle of wine as he made a run for the stairs, taking two at a time. Dawn quickly followed, hot on his heels as her long legs easily kept stride. Together, they rounded the corner to Willow's room, only to stop short in the doorway.

Blood. So much blood. Staining the light carpet a rusty brown where Willow lay, silent and pale. Tara held her head in her lap, fingers lightly running through her hair, soothing.

Except it wasn't soothing. The room crackled with dark magic, reverberated with it. Dawn sniffed experimentally and recoiled as the acrid scent invaded her nose. She looked pointedly at Giles, who was looking at something in Willow's hand. She crouched down to get a better look when Tara's soft voice interrupted her.

"It's a knife," she clarified. And she turned Willow's wrist around just enough to reveal the hunter's knife. As well as the angry red slice marks running vertically along her forearm. "She must have … cccut this arm first, and then done the other." She pointed to Willow's other arm, wearing the same slice pattern as the first had been.

Dawn looked around worriedly. "Is she …? Should we get something to stop the bleeding?"

Tara held up a hand and smile warily. "It's alright. I did a spell. To stop the bleeding. Besides, that's not why she's unconscious." She pointed to the charred circle on the carpet that Dawn had originally mistaken to be Willow's blood and looked up at Giles. "Do you recognize this?"

Giles nodded grimly. "Girkschein's powder. Used primarily for summoning spells and, in rare cases, transfer of powers."

Tara lifted her chin. "In this case, both." She lifted Willow's hand and let if fall limply to the floor. "She's been drained. Magically. There's nothing left in her. I can feel it." She stared at Giles. "And something was here."

Dawn looked from Giles to Tara, unable to follow. "Wait up, people," she said holding up both her hands. "So you're saying that Willow _voluntarily_ summoned something just so she could let it steal all her power?"

"It's not as simple as that," Tara stated.

"No, I would say not," Giles agreed, crouching next to Willow and taking one of her hands in his. "You poor stupid girl," he whispered softly next to her ear.

Dawn shook her head. "Okay, guys. Still not getting it. Why would Willow do this? I mean, I know she was working on getting better with the magic, but _this_ is a little extreme."

"It wasn't Willow," Tara said quietly. "Well, not really."

"She was temporarily possessed," Giles explained, "to do the deed that was needed. The creature used her to help him cross over to this world, and once that was done, he drained her."

Dawn's eyes widened. "But who could do something like that? Just take over Willow's body and use her?"

"Not who," Giles said darkly. "It."

* * *

"Buffy."

And though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Buffy looked up at Xander, nervously biting on her lower lip. "Look, Xan, I can't do this right now. You _can't_ ask me to decide this. You don't have the right-"

"Don't have the right? Buffy, the guy was an accessory to torture. Of myself. Not to mention Anya's … re-demonizing, or whatever you call it these days. I think I have the right to decide whether I'm going to give up on 6 years of friendship." He paused. "Or whether you already have."

Buffy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Xander … don't say that," she whispered.

Xander shrugged, fighting for nonchalance. "Tell me it's not true. Tell me you didn't give up on us the minute you went to bed with that."

She followed his gaze over to where Spike lounged against the wall, calmly smoking a cigarette, seemingly oblivious to them. And it suddenly struck her how unlike Spike that was – outwardly placid when volatility routinely vied for dominance. But nothing in his expression conveyed an interest in them at all. And it left her somewhat shaken, that his predictability had become less … predictable. With a withering sigh, she turned back to Xander. "Just what do you expect me to do?"

"Well, for one, not boning the guy that just recently tried to murder all of your friends would be a nice start."

"He didn't try to-"

"Semantics." Xander waved his hand as if he were swatting at a fly. "You and I both know he would have done it a long time ago if he could. It was just a matter of time." He paused. "And now there's no chip."

Spike took that moment to become actively involved in the conversation. "Yeh, about that … you didn't happen to notice a pile of exceptionally dead Scoobies lying around, did you?" Sarcasm, check.

"Shut it, Dead Boy."

"You little pissant," Spike spat, advancing on Xander. "I could tear you apart in less than 5 seconds if I wanted to. Do you know the only reason I don't?"

Xander raised an eyebrow. "You don't swing that way?"

Spike's jaw twitched, and Buffy could see his fingers curling into a ball. "Spike …" she warned quietly, putting a hand on his arm. He let himself respond to her, fingers unclenching, relaxing reluctantly as he leaned into her touch. And then his eyes were on her so suddenly she had to take a step back. "Buffy … you don't need this. You know … how it is. Between us." His hand found its way to her cheek, caressing softly, igniting everything that was already between them … and the promise of what _could_ be. She closed her eyes, letting him touch her, whisper in her ear, "You know how I feel about you. How much I've already changed."

Behind them, Xander scoffed, "_Yeah._ 'Cause you love her _so_ much. Got the memo. Didn't find it particularly genuine."

Spike charged at him, eyes flashing fury. "That's right, you fucking pillock. I love her more than anything I've loved my entire life. Enough to change my fucking nature, which is more than _you_ can say."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means you haven't changed anything!" Spike threw his arms up in disgust. "You have this woman here – Anya – who would do anything for you, and what do you do? You leave her at the alter. Not because you don't love her, but because you're afraid. Too chickenshit to do the right thing and stand by her. Too worried about what your _friends_ might think." He took a step closer. "Too fucking scared that you're gonna be the one that gets hurt. And that, my friend, makes you a coward."

And even though he hadn't looked at her once, Buffy felt the true direction of his accusations. Felt the bitter sting of his reproof to Xander as if it had been aimed at her. And it was all she could do but put both her hands over her ears and squeeze her eyes shut tight, just like she had in kindergarten when the mean kids had teased her. Back when milk and cookies solved everything, and friends and lovers didn't need to come with a set of instructions.

Xander and Spike were on the verge of blows, playing a game of verbal tennis that was quickly becoming a little too heated. Buffy peeked an eye open to find Anya, head snapping back and forth between the two men as they continued to insult each other, almost as if she was the metaphorical ball. And then Xander lost it and threw the first punch, straight for Spike's nose (and God, Buffy knew how attractive a target that was) and time seemed to slow down. Buffy held her breath, waited for Spike to react - go in for the kill. But after the initial shock, Spike just looked up at Xander and laughed.

"Still hit like a nancy boy, I'll have you know."

"Yeah, well, most people don't get super-strength just because they get dumped."

Buffy's hand went to her mouth just as Spike whipped around and pegged her with a look of outraged betrayal. "You _told_ him?"

Her voice was reduced to a tiny squeak. "Uh … no?"

"Relax, Dead Boy. Halfrek has a big mouth. Much like yourself. Surprised it didn't work out." Xander shrugged dispassionately, a cruel smile beginning to stretch his lips. "She also told me about the hair. Explains a lot, really."

"You better shut your hole if you know what's good for you!"

"Go ahead! Kill me! Maybe then Buffy might finally see the light when it comes to you."

"You guys, just stop!" All heads turned to Buffy, until a voice behind her demanded their attention.

"Yes, please do."

Standing about 10 feet away was an unearthly silhouette, shorter than the average demon, but menacing nonetheless. And as the man took a few steps closer, face turned up towards the light, Anya stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over herself as the others looked the man straight on, mixed emotions of disbelief and dejection playing over each of their faces. Although the face was different – eyes bigger, black like an ink well, teeth mostly missing save a few that looked like half-eaten chicklets, and dark hair now shocked with waves of silvery-white – there was no mistaking him.

"Your bickering was starting to wear on my nerves," Elton continued, rubbing his hands together. "I thought you'd never shut up." He smiled grimly. "Now … who wants to play a little game?"


	19. Out of the Ruins

**Title** - Full Circle  
**Author** – darkravine  
**Rating**- MATURE – graphic violence, language and sex  
**Pairing**- B/S, X/A, W/T  
**Summary** - Post HB - Spike leaves Sunnydale and gets caught up in that pesky route of redemption, Buffy attempts to come to terms with her feelings, while a new evil arrives in Sunnydale.

A/N - I struggled with the decision to upload this chapter, as it hasn't been updated in something like 10 years. But I came across an old draft of this story and got bitten by the writing bug again, so here it is. I realize most of you won't have any recollection of this fic at all, so thanks in advance to those who give it a try anyway. To the few who might have read this before, there have been _some_ edits, but the plot hasn't been changed in any way. Most of the things changed had to do with the fact I was 20 when I originally started this, and a lot of the writing was ... a little rough, to say the least. It's still not perfect, but I don't think any writer is completely satisfied with their work, so here it goes. :-)

Feel free to leave a review - constructive criticism is always appreciated :-)

**Chapter 19: Out of the Ruins**

The rhythmic bang of the weapons chest reverberated throughout the house. For Dawn, the commotion was almost comforting – the familiar sounds of battle. Her lips pressed together in a grim line as she tentatively took hold of Willow's hand. Just not tonight. Her eyes swept around the room, focusing on the puddle of dried blood on the carpet where they had found Willow and then at the bandages she had wrapped around Willow's wrist, already stained a reddish-brown. So much blood. It was familiar, sure. But these days, it seemed like they'd had their fill of blood and battle.

Giles appeared in the doorway, one of Buffy's axes slung around his shoulder. Dawn recognized it as Buffy's favorite, and she found herself wishing that her sister was there to take it from him. It looked all wrong on Giles. She turned back to Willow.

"Dawn, you do understand why you have to stay here," he said softly from the doorway, and it took everything in her not to sigh like a petulant child.

"I get it, believe me. Especially after last time." She reached over to Willow's forehead and smoothed a few strands of hair back. "I'd just get in the way," she added softly.

"That's not it at all," Tara said reassuringly, side-stepping around Giles before taking a seat on the other side of Willow's bed. She grabbed Dawn's hand and squeezed. "The truth is, Willow's going to need you if she wakes up." She looked over at Willow for a moment and then back to Dawn. "She might not … know what's happening to her."

Dawn furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

But Tara was looking back at Willow, cupping her cheek reverently.

Giles shuffled in the doorway, and Tara got up gradually. "Time to go?" she asked, and Giles nodded.

Dawn eyed Giles' axe wearily. "I still don't know what you expect to do. I mean, if this is really Elton, then … well, I'm pretty much expecting him to just kick all your asses. No offense. It's just … he's like, un-killable."

Tara and Giles exchanged a look before Giles nodded at Tara. "Elton stole Willow's magic," she began, her eyes flitting to the floor and then back to Dawn. "Not just a little, but all of it. And stealing magic isn't like stealing a wallet or a car. Magic is a part of someone. It's connected to that particular person, in ways I still don't understand." She paused, and bit her lip, seemingly grasping for words. "He has a part of Willow in him now, and Willow's _not_ an un-killable demon. She's mortal. And since he used Willow's magic to enter back into this world and restore his body, it's a pretty sure bet that his body is mortal as well."

Dawn nodded slowly. "Okay. I kind of get it. But … what if you're wrong? What if Elton's just as strong as he was last time, except now he has all of Willow's magic in him, too?"

Giles smiled grimly. "That is a chance we'll have to take. We can't allow Elton to roam this Earth freely. Even if that means we die trying." He leveled his gaze at Dawn, eyes searching hers.

Dawn held his gaze for a moment, but then she could feel the tell-tale prick of tears behind her eyes, and she launched herself into Giles' arms. Giles patted her back awkwardly, and she smiled a little through the tears. Even after everything, it never failed to amuse her how uncomfortable Giles still got with any kind of affection. "Well, I'm counting on you _not_ to get killed," she sniffled into his sweater. "Buffy is a sucky cook and I might die of malnutrition if you don't come back."

And then Giles was laughing. She pulled away and smiled at him appreciatively, and then enveloped Tara in a hug as well. "Stay safe," she whispered seriously, and she could feel Tara nod.

"I will," Tara promised solemnly as she pulled away, and she nodded to indicate Willow. "Take care of her."

Dawn nodded, and Tara and Giles were turning to go when something occurred to her. "How are you going to find him?"

Giles sighed heavily. "I can only think of one thing that could possibly be on Elton's mind right now … revenge. He'll go after your sister and Spike. Of that, I am certain."

Tara nodded gravely. "We figured we'd just head towards the screaming."

* * *

"H-how?"

Buffy's voice, a stunned whisper, brought a slow smile to Elton's face. "Oh, it was nothing," he replied icily, snapping his wrist in a brisk wave. "Your little witch friend helped me out this time. Which begs the question: why do your friends keep betraying you, Slayer? First, your boyfriend," and his gaze briefly flitted over to Spike, "now, your best friend – doesn't it just sting a little to know that when the going gets tough, your friends abandon you like the waste of space you are?"

Buffy smiled sardonically. "We seem to have different memories of what went down. Didn't all of your supposed "friends" turn on you and leave you to die in that vortex a little while ago?"

"And yet, here I stand." Elton spread his arms out dramatically. "Back and better than ever. And in the interest of full disclosure, I guess I should inform you that I may have picked up an extra trick or two since last time we met. For instance-" He spun around, whipped his arm out and a shot of black lightning hit Xander and Anya as they were attempting to sneak up behind him. They were knocked to the ground instantly, and the black lightning took the form of a bubble around them, trapping them within a magical electric fence.

Elton wagged a chastising finger at them as they got to their feet from within their cell. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to interrupt someone when they're speaking?" He clicked his jaw and closed his fingers into a fist.

Buffy watched helplessly as, little by little, the lightning prison began to shrink around her friends. "Stop this. You aren't here for them, anyway. Just let them go and we'll talk."

Elton ignored her. "Now what do you suppose will happen to your friends when this barrier gets too small?"

As if on cue, a bolt of black lightning collapsed in on Anya, and she shrieked and fell to the ground with an audible thud. Xander dropped down next to her and held her to him as she began to violently convulse.

Elton sneered viciously. "Let's say I speed up the process a bi-"

But Elton didn't finish the thought. His head snapped back grotesquely when Spike took the opportunity to punch him in the jaw. He stumbled back a bit and looked at Spike with mock approval. "Not bad, vampire," he said, rubbing reflexively at his jaw. "That _almost_ hurt."

Buffy seized the moment and rushed full speed at Elton, but he saw her coming. He threw up his arm just as she reached him, and she ricocheted off of him like bullets off of Superman, soaring through the air until she slammed into the lightning barrier. She felt herself being sucked in, almost as if she were being absorbed by Jell-O, but then she was through the barrier, falling to the ground beside Xander and Anya. She laid there for a moment, stunned and breathless, before struggling to get to her feet.

"Don't touch it!" Xander warned when she pulled back her fist to punch through the barrier. "It'll fry you."

Buffy looked down at Anya, who had stopped convulsing and lay unconscious. She could see the charred skin where the lightning had struck Anya's shoulder, and she tried not to wince. "I just went _through_ that thing, Xan." Her mouth set in grim determination. "I'll be all right."

Xander sent her a dubious look as she reeled back once again to punch through the barrier. This time, she let loose, propelling her fist through the crackling spider webs only to be thrown backwards instantly. She raised her arm wearily and grimaced at the somewhat crispy state of her hand.

"Well, that didn't work," she grumbled irritably, and then a fresh wave of pain radiated through her hand.

Xander raised an eyebrow as if to say, "I told you so," but instead he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Nothing that a dozen shots of morphine won't fix," she ground out through deep breaths. "Must be one of those 'enter only' types of barriers."

"And you were expecting a barrier made completely out of dark magic lightning bolts to be, I dunno, _easy_ to break through?"

"Sarcasm isn't helping any, Xander." Buffy rolled over and got to her knees, careful to avoid the jolting current. "At least it doesn't seem to be getting smaller anymore," she said, jerking her head to indicate the perimeter.

Xander nodded. "It stopped shrinking when Spike punched Elton." He flashed a phony smile and brightened. "Maybe, we'll be extra lucky and get another few minutes of peace and quiet before Elton pulverizes Spike and gets around to killing us."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "We need to get serious here, Xander. Because that's exactly what will happen if we don't think of something."

"And just what would you suggest we do, Buff?" Xander spread his arms out desperately. "There's no way out of here. I think you proved that a couple of minutes ago."

Buffy furrowed her brow and tilted her head, as something began to occur to her. "Maybe," she said at length, her eyes slowly meeting Xander's, "we don't need to get out."

* * *

"So I guess it's just you and me." Elton's tone was deceptively light. Playful, almost.

Spike wasn't fooled. He began a slow circle around Elton, sizing him up as he kept a wary eye on Buffy inside the lightning prison. "So it would seem," he replied, careful to keep his tone light as well. "Gotta say, a little surprised to see you, mate. And not just for the obvious reason. I mean, if it was me, and I got a second chance at life, don't think I'd waste it on revenge. Think I'd rather spend it doing everything in my power to avoid those who got me dead in the first place."

Elton's lips curved over his teeth in a sneer. "That's a lie."

Spike slowed and then smiled back, shrugging acquiescently. "Yeah, you got me, there. What can I say? A man's gotta try."

"You can try all you like, but it's not going to save you. Or your little friends." Elton held his palm up, and Spike watched as a ball of yellow light began to grow, spinning furiously in Elton's open palm. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. His eyes swept towards Buffy again, and he noted she still wasn't having much success escaping the magical cell. Okay. So Buffy was out of the game for now. He licked his lips. If he could just keep Elton talking …

"All right, mate. You got me fair and square. And I know you're just itching to hit me with whatever the hell that thing is," he gestured to the yellow ball, "but first, I need to know one thing: what about my case had you so interested?"

Elton cocked his head to the side and regarded Spike quizzically. "Just what the hell are you talking about?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "My case, the one that the Powers that Annoy were supposedly working on? I met your friend Whistler – real pain in the ass, by the way. Good on you for banishing him to New York. Anyway, he mentioned that you took an interest. Just was wondering what in that file would prompt you to start hell on earth."

Elton shrugged. "I had my reasons before then. Believe me." He started to toss the ball of light from one hand to the other. "Mostly, it just pissed me off, made me see the limitations of the Powers these days. They've lost their way, that much is obvious. Trying to turn the best of our kind into simpering ball-less lackeys for Team Humanity yet again. This earth has been theirs long enough," he ranted. "And now they think that you, of all people, should be redeemed?" He snorted derisively. "Please."

Spike nodded, placating. "With you on that one. Never wanted redemption. Still don't." He wiped at his brow, suddenly feeling warm.

"Even the concept of redemption is laughable," Elton went on, agitated. "We're _demons_, for fuck's sake. What the hell do we care about the eternal condition of our souls? They pollute the very nature of demons by extolling the so-called virtues of redemption. It's abhorrent."

He paused for a moment and eyed Spike critically. "I used to think that you would be the one to give our side a chance to take back what should have been ours."

"How's that?" Spike wiped at this forehead again. It was getting warmer by the second, and increasingly harder to concentrate.

Elton sighed. "Let's just say I saw it in a vision." The yellow ball of light levitated between his hands, and it began to spin again, gradually picking up speed. "Normally, I can only see the past in my visions, as I'm sure you've figured out. But the day I saw what that idiot Whistler was working on, I had a vision of the future – hell on earth, with you right in the middle of it. I thought it was a sign, that if I could just prevent Whistler from succeeding, I might be able to see the future again." Elton looked at Spike darkly. "Now I know better."

He spread his hands farther apart, and the yellow ball expanded in diameter. Spike threw an arm up to shield his eyes from the burn of its luminosity. Elton's smile was predatory. "Now I know I'm supposed to kill you." He reared back and launched the yellow ball.

Spike had a moment to brace for the impending impact before it was upon him – sharp white light that blinded, exploding against his shoulder with a pain that left him breathless – overwhelming and immobilizing. And suddenly he knew why that yellow ball had seemed so familiar.

"You like that?" Elton asked mildly, creating another ball of sunlight between his hands. "One of the witch's specialties. I tweaked the recipe a bit, but the effect's more or less the same." He hurled the next one, but Spike managed to dive out of the way just in time. "Just like bowling," Elton remarked, undaunted. "Only … fun."

Spike had just managed to avoid another blast of sunlight when the next shot caught him in the same shoulder that had been hit before. He hollered in agony, eyes snapping down to assess the damage. "Fuck," he breathed, as he stared at the baseball-shaped hole in his arm, the flesh charred at the edges. Sharp white bone peeked through the gaping wound, enough so that Spike could see that some had been incinerated.

Elton cleared his throat, and Spike looked up wearily to see at least a dozen more sunlight balls levitating around Elton. Elton glared at him, all traces of humor gone. "Just how many of these things to you think you can dodge now?"

And then they were heading towards him.

* * *

Tara heard the screaming first, and she tapped Giles on the shoulder, pointing towards the alley behind the Magic Box. Giles nodded in understanding and roughly turned the wheel to the right, the tires squealing in protest. They followed the alley down a ways until Tara caught the lights out of the corner of her eye. "There!" she yelled, pointing to the right again.

Giles accelerated, and the lights grew brighter. Eventually, Tara could see him – Elton, launching Willow's little balls of sunshine at something on the ground. Someone, she mentally corrected once they had gotten closer. Off to the side, she could see what appeared to be a lightning storm surrounding Buffy and Xander. Someone – Anya, it looked like – was collapsed on the ground, apparently unconscious.

Elton took a moratorium on hurling sunlight balls when the beam from the car's headlights swept over his face, and then Giles slammed into him. The impact sent Elton flying, and he landed with a crash in the dumpsters forty feet away.

"Quickly, we don't have much time!" Giles yelled as he brought the car to a stop, and Tara hopped out, chanting furiously. She almost tripped over Spike, the apparent victim of Elton's sunlight flinging. He looked up at her weakly, and she could see the toll the sunlight had taken. His skin was so riddled with char that it looked like he'd been playing in a fireplace.

Buffy was yelling something from within the confines of the lightning field, but Tara didn't have a chance to make out what it was before Elton hurled a dumpster at her. She ducked impulsively, and the dumpster slammed against the building behind her.

She saw Giles come at Elton with the axe, but Elton help up his hand and made a fist before Giles could reach him. The axe dropped uselessly to the ground as Giles grasped desperately at his own throat, seemingly choking.

Tara took a deep breath. She could feel the magic brewing inside of her, and when she felt it bloom brightest, she drew her arms back behind her head. It was now or never. "_Haurire_!" she yelled, and let go.

Elton looked down in surprise at the brownish glob of goo that had lodged itself onto his torso. But then the goo started to pulsate, and Tara smiled in relief when Elton dropped to his knees, clawing at the goo desperately.

Giles was bent over, hands on knees as he drew in several deep breaths, and he aimed an appreciative glance in her direction. She smiled back at him before bending down to check on Spike.

"What the hell did you throw at him?" Spike managed to rasp out, and Tara helped pull him up to a sitting position.

"Barnacle," she replied. "It's draining him. But it won't last long." She eyed him speculatively. "Do you think you can walk?"

Spike shrugged, and then winced when his shoulder barked in protest. She hauled him up by the other arm and steadied him when he nearly fell over.

"I'm not sure you can take another hit," she cautioned wearily as they slowly made their way over to the lightning prison.

He grunted. "Been through worse. I think," he replied. He studied her closely, noticed the pallid hue to her skin and the bloodshot eyes. "You don't look so good either."

Tara pressed her lips together. "The spell took a lot out of me. I'm not nearly as strong as Willow … was. I just hope I have enough left in me to get this barrier down before Elton breaks free from-"

Tara wasn't quite sure what happened next. She heard Giles yelling, saw Elton backhand him and knock him down. And then she was hurtling through the air. She crashed down to the ground and tumbled over, looking up just in time to see a dark blue fire catapult Spike backwards.

And then Elton was coming for her.

* * *

"He got free."

Xander cursed softly under his breath and got up to stand beside Buffy. Together, they watched as Elton knocked Giles aside as if he were a gnat and then proceeded towards Spike and Tara. And then Spike shoved Tara roughly aside, stepping in front of the blue fireball Elton sent in their direction. He was blown backwards, a blur of flame sailing into a building before crashing to the ground off to their right, motionless.

Buffy's sharp intake of breath was the only thing that betrayed the gravity of her emotions, and then she was yelling at Giles. Xander kept an eye on Tara, desperately deflecting everything that Elton threw at her, but even he could see she was tiring fast.

Behind him, Anya stirred, and he dropped down next to her. Her forehead crinkled, brows knit in pain, and she held her hand out to him. He took it in his own, lightly running his thumb along the curve of her wrist. "Did we win?" she asked thickly, and Xander smiled despite the situation.

"Buffy's working on it. Just rest, for now."

Anya shot him a look that suggested where he could shove that particular advice and sat up slowly. When she caught sight of Buffy, her eyes snapped back to Xander.

"Buffy's _in_ here? Stuck in this deathtrap with us?"

Xander shrugged. "Hey, it's a hell of a lot safer in here than out there. Just ask Spike."

"How is being stuck in here 'working on it'? She should be out there kicking his ass with everyone else." She paused, and as an afterthought added, "Except for us, of course. I'd rather live."

Buffy sighed and turned to them. "You realize I can hear you, right?" Anya shrugged indifferently and Buffy rolled her eyes. "The least you two can do is help me get Giles' attention. Tara's not going to last much longer if we don't do something."

Xander nodded and stepped closer. "What's the plan?"

* * *

Giles had just located the axe again when he noticed Buffy, Xander, and Anya jumping around frenetically from within their confinement. He took a step towards them, eventually realizing they were trying to tell him something. He pointed to his ear and shook his head. "I can't hear you!"

Buffy stopped jumping and blew the bangs out of her face, frustrated. Then her eyes lit up, and she held up a "wait a minute" finger as she said a few words to Xander and Anya. Xander nodded after a moment and then Buffy turned back to him, holding up three fingers. Giles blinked at her. "Three?" he said, brows furrowed in confusion.

Buffy shook her head and re-emphasized the three fingers.

Giles held up his hands at a loss. "Three? Three what? I don't understand …" he trailed off, a dim memory of game night at the Summers' household re-surfacing. "Bloody Hell," he muttered. "Please don't tell me you're doing Charades?" he yelled to her.

Buffy nodded gleefully and put one finger on her nose while pointing at him with her other hand. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and waited until she held up her fingers again. "Three words," he said, and she held up one finger, "first word."

Giles watched as Buffy roughly shoved Xander to the ground. "Push?" Giles guessed, and Buffy nodded happily again as she held up the second finger and pointed to her right. He followed her line of sight and saw Elton, nearly on top of Tara. "Elton?" He looked back at Buffy for confirmation and she nodded holding up her third finger. "Third word … push Elton …" and then it was clear what she wanted him to do. "But … how?" he started to ask, and then Buffy raised an eyebrow, and he took off.

The car was still running when he reached it, hopping over the door and sliding behind the wheel. He laid the axe down in the passenger seat and stomped down on the accelerator. The car fish-tailed a little and then straightened out, the distance between him and Elton closing fast. Giles grit his teeth, made a few adjustments, and slammed into Elton just as he was about to grab Tara.

* * *

Buffy grabbed Xander and Anya and pulled them back to the edge of the barrier as Elton flew through the air and became lodged in the force field. "Come on, come on," she urged under her breath, watching as he was slowly pulled in.

Giles screeched to a stop just outside the barrier, and she could see him pick something up from the passenger seat. "Xander, Anya … duck!" she yelled as Giles flung the axe into the force field. It slid through the barrier like melted butter, wind milled over their heads, hit the lightning, and then boomeranged back towards them. Buffy held up her hand and caught the handle of the axe in mid-air just as Elton slid the rest of the way through the barrier. She swung, grit her teeth in satisfaction when she felt it hit the mark, and let go.

Elton sprung to his feet, the axe lodged at an angle in his back. He sneered at her. "Stupid girl. You think _this_ is enough to stop me?" he asked, veins popping out angrily around his liquidy dark eyes, as he pulled the axe out and dropped it to the ground.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "No. But I'm pretty sure 1000 volts is." And she kicked him hard in the stomach, deftly retrieved the axe from the ground, and stuck him in the gut with it, pushing him into the lightning. His eyes bulged in surprise, blacker than black, as Buffy held him in the lightning field, her hands firm on the axe handle. He convulsed for a few moments, sputtered out something that resembled "bitch", before closing his eyes and twitching one last time.

* * *

The lightning prison hadn't dissipated in the wake of Elton's death as Buffy had supposed it would, and it took Tara awhile to build up the strength needed to tear down the walls. While Tara worked on the chanting, Xander busied himself with tending to Anya. There wasn't much he could do about her shoulder now that it was starting to hurt in earnest, but he could hold her hand, brush kisses across her forehead, tell her everything was going to be all right now and that they would get through this together.

Buffy was pacing the perimeter of their shared cell, arms crossed over her chest as she cast furtive glances over to where he supposed Spike must be. He knew she was probably itching to ask them to check on him, but Tara was busy chanting and Giles was … well, _Giles_, and Xander wasn't sure Buffy trusted Giles not to stake Spike if given the opportunity. He smiled wryly. To say their little clan had severe trust issues was the understatement of the year.

An hour after Buffy killed Elton, Tara lay exhausted on the ground as the lightning began to break form and disperse into the atmosphere. Xander gently led Anya to Giles' car, now sporting an Elton-shaped dent in the fender, and put her in the passenger seat. "I'll be back in a sec," he told her with a quick kiss pressed to her forehead, and then he went over to find Buffy.

When they found Spike, the only indication he was alive at all was the absence of dust. Otherwise, Xander decided, Spike looked as close to dead as he'd ever see, and living on the Hellmouth, he'd seen a lot. Buffy didn't move to touch him at first, and Xander wondered if she was afraid he might disintegrate if she did. There were only a few spots left on his body with skin still attached, and fire had eaten away at most of his hair and clothes, so much so that all that remained were scorched tatters of material that barely hung together. The leather coat was destroyed, that was for sure. Xander idly wondered if Spike would be more pissed about that than the thrashing Elton inflicted. That was, of course, _if_ Spike ever woke up.

Buffy flinched, and Xander moved to touch her shoulder. "Buff?"

She didn't seem to hear him, her eyes hazily staring at what remained of Spike. But then, she drew in a shaky breath and looked over at him, eyes imploring and voice so much like a child's as she pleaded with him. "Please, Xander. _Please_. Any other night, you can give me a hard time about him, but please. Not tonight. Not after … this. I need you to be my friend right now. Because I can't …," she trailed off and swallowed. "I need you to help me. I need you to-" and she broke off, doubling over, hands on her knees as she struggled to keep the anguish at bay, and Xander knew that this was it. This was the moment where he chose. This was when he could either support the woman who had shaped his life, the girl who re-defined courage on a regular basis, the one who had been through _everything_ with him, saved his life more than once, or … he could throw it all away for a meaningless concept like pride.

He bent down next to Spike, gently rolling the vampire over so that he could pick him up more easily. And suddenly Tara was there, grabbing Spike's feet so Xander wouldn't have to carry him on his own. He flashed Tara a small smile, and she returned it, and together they brought Spike over to Giles' car, deposited him gently in the back seat, and climbed in beside him, daring Giles with their eyes to say anything. Buffy followed at a distance, looking more than a little lost, and after a moment, Giles went to go get her, throwing an arm around her and guiding her back to the car.

When they got back to the house, all hell was breaking loose yet again. Dawn was freaking out, apparently because Willow had started screaming over an hour ago and hadn't stopped since. Tara put an arm on Dawn's shoulder and told her it was fine, that Willow was fine, she just needed some time.

"_Fine?_" Dawn parroted back, and Xander recognized the crazy eyes. "_Fine?_ That doesn't sound _fine_ to me. She sounds like she's dying. I nearly called 911 like a _billion_ times."

Tara took a deep breath. "It's the magic, Dawnie. Willow's magic died when Elton did, and her body is grieving the loss."

Dawn stilled, and a hand went to her mouth. "Her magic's … gone?"

Tara nodded solemnly and she glanced up the stairwell. "I should go. Be with her." She turned to Xander and eyed him steadily. "You should help Buffy."

Xander nodded, and she fluttered up the stairs.

Dawn grabbed him by the arm. "Is Buffy … is she okay?"

"She's in the car … she's fine. For the most part."

"And everyone else?"

Xander paused and let out a breath. "More or less. I have to take Anya to the hospital – she got a little burned. Buffy should probably go too, but I doubt she will." He eyed Dawn contemplatively before jerking his head in the direction of the car. "Come on. We'll probably need your help."

To her credit, Dawn only looked slightly sick at the state of Spike, and Xander couldn't help but feel a little wistful. Their little Dawnie had grown up so much during the past year, and he felt himself missing the wide-eyed innocent girl that knew nothing about keys or death or heartache. He watched as she led Buffy out of the car, past a dozing Anya, and up the walkway and into the house, murmuring sisterly words of reassurance in her ear.

Giles gave Xander a look, and Xander shook his head. "Not now," he warned wearily. "I think I'm done telling her what to do. I'm going to try letting her decide what's best, for once." Giles looked at him a little doubtfully, but Xander ignored him and opened the back door. Giles sighed, but helped him just the same, grabbing Spike's feet while Xander grasped him under the arms.

"Where to?" Xander asked Buffy once they had gotten through the door, almost as if he were moving a piece of furniture for her.

Buffy met his eyes found her voice for the first time since they had found Spike. "My room."

He nodded curtly, and he and Giles deposited Spike in Buffy's bed, made their way back downstairs, and bid Dawn and Buffy a good night.

Anya was still asleep in the passenger seat when he and Giles got back to the car, so he dropped Giles off at his apartment, promising to return his car in the morning.

Xander wasn't too surprised when the hospital wanted to keep Anya overnight for observation. Anya had been putting up a brave front, but he knew from experience with his construction job that electrical burns were no joke.

Once Anya had been led to her room and hooked up to the morphine machine, Xander took her by the hand. "I messed up," he began, and he could see the question in Anya's eyes so he waved her off before she could say anything. "No, I need to say this. Before you get too loopy and start thinking I'm the Easter Bunny or something."

Her expression darkened, and he laughed. "Sorry, sorry. Forgot for a minute." He took a deep breath and looked at her earnestly. "I need you to know that it was me. I messed up when … the wedding. Spike was right – I was afraid. I couldn't … I didn't know if things could work out, and I freaked and ran away."

"Like a little girl," she remarked mildly, and he ducked his head in amusement.

"Yes, like a little girl," he allowed. He trudged on. "But I also need you to know that I love you. That I have never been more certain after tonight that I will _always_ love you. That I will spend the rest of my life pursuing you." He leaned close, resting his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. "I want to marry you tomorrow, if you'll still have me," he whispered.

He broke away from her, gazed at her steadily as her eyes became suspiciously dewy. And then he kissed her, slow and sweet, until something in them ignited and he was forced to pull away before they violated some sort of hospital policy.

"Tomorrow then," he promised with a knowing smile, backing away slowly.

She favored him with a knowing smile of her own. "I haven't said yes, you know."

He shrugged. "Then I'll ask again tomorrow."

* * *

Dawn was buzzing around the kitchen, rearranging the spice cabinet, organizing the refrigerator, and dusting the knickknacks that lived above the kitchen window. Buffy smiled from her perch on the sofa, propping her head up on an elbow as she watched Dawn discover new tasks that just "had to be done" at 3 o'clock in the morning. She rolled her eyes when she caught Dawn eying the glass ashtrays their mom had bought on a whim at a garage sale speculatively. "Okay, Dawn, this is getting ridiculous," she called over. "We don't even smoke, and even if we did, I doubt we'd be worried about the cleanliness of the ashtrays."

Dawn looked up guiltily before placing them back on the counter gently. "I wasn't really thinking of cleaning them, just …" she trailed off, lost in a thought Buffy couldn't find.

"What then?" she asked Dawn. Then her expression darkened. "_You're_ not … smoking, are you? Because I thought we had that talk like years ago."

Dawn shot her a look, and then Buffy realized what had compelled Dawn to pick up those ashtrays. "Oh," she said softly, inadvertently glancing up towards her room, once again hit with the reminder of what awaited her. She sighed heavily, and turned to the window behind her, gazing out into the night.

"Buffy," Dawn began, approaching her slowly, as if she were a skittish horse on the verge of bolting. "Buffy … can you tell me? What happened tonight? I would ask Tara, but she finally got Willow settled down and I don't want to mess with that." She took another step closer, and Buffy turned back to her wearily. "I mean, can you at least tell me if … if you're okay?"

Buffy looked down at the floor and shrugged. "As okay as always," she replied, smile strained, and Dawn shook her head impatiently.

"That's not an answer." She waited for something more, and when she didn't get it, she folded her arms around her chest haughtily. "What _happened_ tonight, Buffy? Why is everyone shutting down and not talking to each other? What did Elton _do_ to you guys?"

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It wasn't all Elton," she remarked distantly, her eyes returning to the window.

The headlights panning across the window and into their driveway stopped whatever question had been on Dawn's lips in its tracks, and together they went to the door, opening it to find Xander loaded up with a few brown paper shopping bags filled to the brim with Styrofoam containers.

"What-?" Buffy started to ask, but Xander brushed past her, dropping the brown bags onto the kitchen floor with a thud.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Those things were heavy." He shuffled his feet awkwardly until he finally brought his eyes up to meet Buffy's. "I bought out every butcher in Sunnydale. Pig's blood, cow, chicken – I didn't think it mattered what kind right now." He smiled a little. "The butcher on Main even had roadrunner blood. Roadrunner blood! Can you even believe what kind of town we live in if the butchers are stocking the blood of loveable yet diabolical cartoon characters?" He broke off, and his eyes flitted to Dawn and then back to Buffy, who still hadn't figured out what he was doing there.

"I asked Anya to marry me again," he continued. "Now, she hasn't exactly said yes, but to be honest, it doesn't matter. I'm still going to feel the way I do and I'm done running from how I feel." He looked pointedly at Buffy. "I think there's been enough of that." He took a deep breath and studied a spot on the floor. "I know I haven't been the most supportive friend these days. I've never liked Spike – in fact, when his dead ass is back on his feet again, I fully intend on expensing all of this." He gestured to the bags of blood. "But he saved Tara's life tonight. Just threw himself in front of that fireball without a second thought, and … I guess I need to give him a chance. Now, I'm never going to think anyone is good enough for you, Buffy. Certainly not Spike. But you need to do what makes you happy, and I need to learn how to trust you to know what that is."

Buffy couldn't keep the smile from spreading slowly across her face, and her eyes filled with joyful tears as she came to terms with Xander's heartfelt declaration. And suddenly, it was all too much, and she launched herself into Xander's arms. He yelped a little in surprise, and then he was wrapping his arms around her tightly. She let the tears fall freely, smiling against his shirt. No words passed between them; words seemed to get them in trouble most of the time, and there was nothing she could say that could remotely convey the depth of her adoration and gratitude.

Later, after Xander had gone home and Dawn had gone to bed, Buffy steeled herself one last time, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with some of the pig's blood Xander had brought over before heading up the stairs to her room. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes for a moment before she gathered the courage to look over at her bed. Spike still looked as wretched as he had before, burned almost beyond recognition, and her breath caught in her throat. That he hadn't dusted instantly after being hit with that fireball was a miracle - she'd never known most vampires to survive even the barest touch of fire against their skin. She smiled wryly. But Spike had always been the exception to the rule, hadn't he? With his sharp features that shouldn't be attractive and his cigarettes that shouldn't be appealing. She supposed she should stop being surprised when he inevitably proved her wrong.

She pushed herself off the door, taking the mug of blood over to the bedside table and placing it down. Her eyes wandered over to the curtains, and then she was closing them tightly, overlapping the material so there would be no gaps for the sunlight to filter through in the morning. And then gently, as if she were afraid the movement would jostle him and he would retroactively turn to dust, she crawled into bed next to him, laying on top of the covers and propping her head up on a pillow as she gazed at him steadily.

"I heard you're supposed to talk to people in comas … something about them hearing your voice and finding their way back," she began, voice a little shaky. "Not that this is a coma – I'm not really sure what this is. But I think you can hear me. At least, I hope you can."

She paused, licking her lips. "Xander was just here. He said to say hi. Well … no, he didn't, but he did bring back a year's supply of blood, so that's something. He said … he said that he'd try to be okay with us, which is miraculous considering he hates you almost as much as I used to." She smiled a little wistfully. "It makes it easier, that he's going to try. That they're all going to try … to understand. But after tonight, after I thought I'd lost you, I realized that all of that doesn't matter anymore. This last year … I was so broken. And you were the only one that I could talk to, joke with, just _be_ with. I don't know how you did it, but you fixed me in a way no one else could, and I can't keep pretending that that didn't happen."

Her lip trembled just the slightest bit, and she leaned in close to him, whispering against his ear. "Spike? Can you hear me? I'm not afraid anymore. I know what I want, and I'm not afraid of what that means." She paused, taking another breath. "I'm not going to say I love you – I'm not _that_ fixed yet – but I can say that you mean more to me than I ever thought possible, and I'm not ready for this to end yet. You need to wake up, Spike. You need to wake up."

* * *

To be concluded in the Epilogue, in about a week or two...


End file.
